


Mysterious Evidence

by Macx



Series: Denuo [20]
Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation, Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Magic, Paranormal, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-13
Updated: 2011-05-13
Packaged: 2017-10-19 08:24:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/198869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macx/pseuds/Macx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A police/crime conference brings Grissom and Nick to Salt Lake where they not only run into Chris and company, but also into something that will change their lives forever</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mysterious Evidence

 

Chris Larabee walked out of the elevator onto the sixth floor, looking around the offices and labs. He could hear the fast clicking of keyboard keys and a quick look confirmed that JD was typing something  or other. He was, as usual, in the little cubicle that was his home away from home, a square room crammed full of electronics and humming with energy. One waste basket was overflowing with wrappers and food cartons, two empty bottles peeking out of the mess. JD didn't even look up as Larabee peered inside, too absorbed in his work.  
JD and Vin had been collecting evidence concerning a murder connected to electronic fraud, and it had taken up most of those two men's time. Now, with the work done and the suspects behind bars until the hearing, it was time to make their reports. A court date hadn't been scheduled yet.  
Buck was still in one of the labs, dusting various kitchen utensils for fingerprints, trying to make a connection between the two homicide cases their team had been helping out with. Josiah had a day off, Nathan was down in pathology as usual, and Chris had only some leftover reports waiting for him to sign. He had planned to take today to catch up on some necessary reading. There were piles of forensic journals he still hadn't even unpacked.  
"Ah, Chris, there you are."  
He turned and smiled briefly as Orrin Travis, head of the CSI's The Branch, approached.  
"I wanted to send this down by email, but forgot. Here's your copy of the conference schedule."  
A sheet of paper was pushed into his hands. Chris nodded. "Thanks." He skimmed over it, noting that his seminars had been highlighted.  
"Who of your team is attending?" Travis wanted to know.  
"Buck signed up for two seminars, each about two hours. JD wanted to take a look at he electronics on offer. Nathan will accompany me to Deadly Weapons. Josiah's list is long enough to keep him busy twenty-four hours. Vin mentioned something about the Blood Spatter lecture. I'll get their schedules to you later."  
"Good."  
CSIs were required to go to lectures, take part in training courses, as well as participate in seminars. Chris had been on a multitude in the past, had even been the lecturer for a dozen more. With the Annual Criminalistic and Forensic Convention here in Salt Lake, it was a chance of a lifetime to catch up on all the latest developments, without having to fly anywhere and stay in hotels. He would make sure his team would attend.  
Walking into his office, he switched on his computer, then picked up the list again, reading over the guest lecturers. One name caught his attention.  
Dr. Gil Grissom, Las Vegas.  
He had met the man several months ago when Ezra and he had gone to Vegas for a longer weekend, just to unwind, accidentally stumbling into a crime scene. Grissom was an intriguing man, a renowned entomologist, a known capacity in the world of crime scene investigation, as well as law enforcement, and Chris had been impressed by the man's sharp and agile mind.  
Larabee marked the lecture Grissom was scheduled to give, smiling. Forensic Entomology. Might be interesting.

Fourteen hours later, finally at home and feeling pleasantly tired while not yet ready to sleep, Chris lay on the couch, scribbling onto a pad. Ezra walked into the living room, glanced at the TV that was running nearly soundlessly in the background, noting the tabby resting comfortably on his lover's stomach, and smiled.  
"Comfy," he commented.  
"For Cassie or for me?" Chris chuckled,. The vibrations of his stomach muscles causing the little cat to flex her claws and protest softly.  
He reached out scratched her ears, rewarded with a deep, heartfelt purr. Cassie pushed her head into the massaging fingers, directing them to the spot she wanted to feel them.  
Ezra rested his forearms on the couch's back and peered at what Chris was reading. It was an extended list of the upcoming forensic convention. He had scribbled notes and highlighted points of interest.  
"You'll be busy."  
"Uh-huh. Plan to. Lots of interesting things happening."  
"Daylight hours."  
Chris rolled his eyes. "I know the clock, Ez. I know what I am. I have a handle on it. I'll be in the center all day long."  
Ezra leaned forward, almost overbalancing, stealing a kiss from his lover. "I hope so. We're out of sunscreen factor 800 and you get rather grumpy when you have sunburn," he murmured.  
"Do not," Chris growled.  
"Do too."  
"Do not!"  
Cassie raised her head, watching the two vampires mock-fight. She yawned widely, then decided to vacate her snoozing spot. Experience had taught her that familiars shouldn't be on a vampire's stomach when said vampire was arguing with his lover.  
Chris grabbed the other vampire, using his strength to pull him over the couch and letting him fall onto him. Ezra gave a yelp of protest, but he didn't fight back. Instead he latched onto Chris's lips, sliding into a more comfortable position.  
"Do too," he breathed as they separated.  
"Do not and shut up!" Chris rumbled, slanting his lips over Ezra's once more.  
"Yes, sir," Ezra chuckled and surrendered into the embrace.  
The pad and pencil slid to the floor, forgotten and ignored.

Cassie sat in front of the couch, ears perked, eyes on the two men. Familiars had an instinct, especially when it came to their humans. Or vampires. With those two, her instincts had never failed her.  
Her tail twitched once, then she rose and walked majestically away.

* * *

Gil Grissom stepped away from the black 2002 Chevy Tahoe, looking around the street, eyes hidden behind his sunglasses. The heat around him was no different from Las Vegas, but the view was remarkably so. Where Vegas had distant mountains, Salt Lake had closer, snow capped ones. There were no lit-up casinos and hotels, no shows, no garish lights. No gamblers.  
A nice change from the city he was used to.  
The hotel behind them was one of the larger ones, with an adjoining conference center that would, for the next four days, be his home and office. The Annual Criminalistic and Forensic Convention had come to Salt Lake City and it was one event Gil Grissom would never miss. There would be seminars and discussion and new tools to try out, as well as hands on demonstrations in the field.  
"Nice," Nick Stokes remarked and looked at the glass and stone building, smiling widely.  
Gil's lips twitched at the sight of his lover.  
For the past eight months now, the two men had been lovers and partners, a secret no one else shared with them. It had taken a while for them to get together, but he had enjoyed every minute of it.  
The conference had been scheduled for a long time now and only Grissom would attend. That had been the plan. He was a lecturer, as well as a seminar attendee, and while he was gone, Catherine would take over the team. Gil hadn't known that Nick had paid for a place at the convention as well. He had simply thought that taking a few days off to come along was Stokes's way to spend some time with his lover.  
"I want to hear your lectures," had been the only reply.  
"You could have had that cheaper."  
"Not the same."  
End of discussion.  
So now the two men were in Salt Lake, one on official business, the other for a convention and a vacation.  
"Let's get our rooms, Gris," Nick called. "I want to have some time before the whole convention thingy starts."  
"The convention thingy?" Grissom echoed.  
A killer smile was directed at him. "Yep."  
With that, Nick walked to the hotel entrance.  
Grissom chuckled, picked up his own bag, and followed. His eyes were drawn to the jeans-clad butt, the faded material clinging just right, and then traveled up the muscular back to the broad shoulders. Having some time might be not such a bad idea.

*

They had been given two separate hotel rooms, as was normally custom, but Grissom doubted that Nick's would see much of him. At least not for a longer stretch of time. Currently, his lover was dozing right next to him, snuggled close, one arm wrapped around his waist, the warm breath brushing over Grissom's side. Even today, after so many months, it still amazed the older man how content and comfortable he felt. How much this had become part of his life and how fast.  
Their lovemaking, the 'christening of the hotel bed', as Nick had called it, had been long, slow and intense. Now, in the afterglow, Grissom did what he loved doing, what he always loved doing: observe. But with Nick, observing had become more than just curiosity. It was the appreciation of the well-developed form next to him, the play of muscles under the skin, how hard he was against him.  
His lover.  
His partner.  
His friend.  
Nick Stokes.  
Grissom caressed one bare shoulder and drew an appreciative sigh from the younger man.  
Nick was real, he was his, and he loved him. Maybe one day, he would believe it, Grissom thought, keeping up the gentle strokes. Right now, it still was a dream that an attractive, younger man could have fallen for him. Gil wasn't shy or self-conscious, but he was a realist. He knew who and what he was; there was nothing to be ashamed of. But he also knew who Nick was, and it scared him to think of losing him to someone younger.  
"Stop it," came a mumbled drawl.  
A pair of sleepy, dark brown eyes looked at him. Nick was the picture of sated pleasure.  
Now he pushed himself up so he could look at Grissom, his face suddenly serious.  
"Can hear the wheels creaking, Gil. You're at it again."  
Grissom sighed, feeling caught. "You have a tendency to read minds."  
Nick leaned forward and brushed his lips over his lover's. "There will never be someone else," he whispered his vow. "Never."  
Gil wrapped his arms around him and pulled him down. Nick slanted his lips over his, plundering his mouth, kissing him deeply.  
Never say never, a hideous little voice whispered in Grissom's mind.

*

Grissom looked over the schedule of the next four days. It was an interesting mix of classical forensic science and the new, sometimes experimental methods some CSIs used. One name suddenly stuck out and he stopped, frowning thoughtfully. Chris Larabee. CSI Salt Lake. Graveyard shift supervisor.  
Grissom had met the man once before, about a year ago, when he had come to Vegas -- promptly getting involved in a murder. Back then, Gil had been puzzled by the other criminalist. Not because he knew the owner of the hotel the murder had happened in. Not because aforementioned owner was not only much younger than Grissom would have imagined, as well as rich. Not because the two men were more than just friends. No, it had been something else, something he hadn't been able to put his finger on. Something strange.  
So when he entered the conference center, sharp eyes taking in all the participants, looking for familiar faces, he wasn't surprised to single out the tall, blond man. As back in Vegas, he was dressed all in black, sharp hazel eyes taking in the people around him. Next to him stood an African-American, leafing through one of the many free brochures.  
"Mr. Grissom," Larabee greeted him, smiling, as Gil approached. "Saw your name on the list of participants. Good to see you again."  
"Likewise," Grissom replied, shaking the other man's hand.  
Larabee turned to the dark skinned man next to him. "Dr. Nathan Jackson, our medical examiner," he introduced him and Grissom shook hands again. "One of my team, Buck Wilmington, is here today as well, but he's currently in one of the seminars."  
"Nice to meet you," Jackson said. "You have quite a reputation, Dr. Grissom."  
"Thank you."  
"You're on at three, right?" Larabee asked.  
Grissom nodded.  
"Well, how about we grab a beer after that? You're scheduled till five. We didn't really have such a great start the last time and I was hoping to make it up to you." The smile was open and honest.  
Gil pondered the offer, looking at the other CSI, then smiled briefly. "I'm looking forward to it. I'd like to bring my colleague, if you don't mind. We're attending together."  
Larabee nodded. "Sure. We'll meet outside the center at six. Gives you time to field some more questions. I know a little place where the beer's good."

* * *

The 'little place' Larabee had picked was called The Grotto and it was hardly your run of the mill bar type. It was a club, exclusive, expensive, and it had a bouncer. Grissom studied the people lining up in front of the entrance, even at six, hoping to gain entrance. They came from all age groups and varying social levels. There were businessmen, who walked past the bouncer with a nod and a brief smile, tourists, waiting patiently, younger couples, even middle-aged men and women.  
Larabee just greeted the bouncer, who smiled at the blond and waved them through, then gestured at Nick and Grissom to follow him. They did. They descended several steps into the basement of the house, hearing music and voices. Soft lights illuminated the stairway and the corridors. There were some really expensive art prints on the walls.  
"Sure we're in the right place?" Nick murmured, looking around the main room of the club. "A coffee and a water will probably ruin me for life."  
Grissom let his eyes run over the wide expanse of the floor, the tables, the bars, as well as the live band. There were private booths, side rooms, what looked like a glass-ensconced pool room, a sitting area, and more.  
Larabee was greeted by one of the waitresses, a slight, blond woman. Grissom deducted from the behavior that the man was known here. The suspicion was reaffirmed by several of the early patrons looking at them, checking them out, then stopping at the man in black's form, quickly going back to their own business.  
They walked across the room past the sitting area. Up close Grissom discovered that the area in itself was partitioned as well, making it possible for a business man to make a private transaction next to a intimately kissing couple. As he passed by several patrons, Gil became uncomfortably aware of the fact that they were being watched. But every time the watchers caught Larabee's closeness to the two newcomers, they were once again ignored.  
Curious.  
Chris Larabee was a supervisor like Grissom and he probably didn't earn more than him. So if the man was known here, did he come by after shifts to drink and meet people? And how well was he known? This was more than just politeness; it was respect. Maybe even slight fear.  
"Chris."  
The soft voice came from none other than Ezra Standish, the man who owned the Shaman Hotel in Las Vegas and who Grissom had met before. Before he could say anything, Standish wrapped an arm around Larabee's waist and pulled him close, their lips meeting in a kiss that was anything but chaste.  
"You're early," Standish murmured.  
"Yeah, well... we got off early. Ezra, you'll probably remember Gil Grissom and Nick Stokes from the Las Vegas crime lab."  
Standish gave the two men a friendly, welcoming smile. "Of course. How are you, gentlemen?"  
Grissom was still slightly speechless by the open and unconcerned way the two men had greeted each other.  
"Fine," Nick answered instead. "Nice place. Hope you're buying," he added with a chuckle.  
Chris smiled. "I will. I get special prices."  
"You know the owner?" Gil asked, voice quiet, sharp eyes looking at Ezra.  
"Yep," was all the other man answered.  
So Standish packed some serious cash, Grissom thought. Very serious.  
"You two pick a table. I've to call my son." He smiled. "He's about to move here to go to the local U. There are some last minute details to check."  
Larabee had a son? Grissom mused. Well, he hadn't picked the blond as a father, but one never stopped learning.  
"Coffee?" Nick asked. "Beer?"  
"Coffee," Gil decided. "And a bottle of water. I'll come with you."  
"'Kay. How about you get the orders and I'll make a quick visit to the john?" Nick grinned. "All that water from the conference has to go somewhere."  
Grissom chuckled and agreed. He left their orders with a young woman manning the bar. She placed the bottle of water onto the counter, smiling, then walked over to the coffee machine to get his second order.  
"Hi, handsome. New in town?"  
He was startled by the almost purring, male voice, and he turned to look at the man who had just approached - him?  
"Excuse me?"  
The man looked like he was in his early thirties, with black, slightly curled hair, sparkling gray eyes and, underneath that suit, a body that could tempt a monk. And that man was approaching him?  
"Are you talking to me?" he asked, puzzled and slightly curious.  
"Well, yes, gorgeous. What do you think? I haven't seen you here before, so you're either new or traveling through." There was enough honey in that voice to attract a swarm of bees.  
"The latter."  
"Ah, that's what I thought." The man took a swig from his own beer and perched onto the bar stool next to where Grissom was still standing. "You have any plans for tonight?"  
"Are you suggesting what I think you are?"  
"Well," dancing gray eyes regarded him - Lord, the guy was checking him out - as he leaned over,  "if you think I'm suggesting you and me do a little horizontal dancing together, then, yep, I'm suggesting what you think I am."  
Grissom swallowed, not really believing what he was hearing. This New Age Adonis was not only checking him out, no, he was specifically asking HIM if he wanted to... holy shit! For a very brief second Grissom was thinking about what he would have done had he met the guy before Nick - a very, very brief second. Because the next moment there was this distinctive Texan drawl at his ear, a hand on the small of his back, and he was turned around.  
"Ya 'scuse him fer a second, man, don't'cha?"  
And then there was Nick, Nick's arms around him, Nick's  lips all over his, Nick's tongue parting his lips and starting a taunting, languid but thorough dance with his own, taking his breath away, literally. When Stokes pulled back after what seemed to be an eternity, Gil all but slumped back against him, breathing harder. His brain was on overload, synapses struggling under the onslaught, and he would have been hard pressed to utter anything intelligent.  
As he glanced at the dark-haired Adonis, gray eyes met his, and the guy simply smiled and shrugged.  
"Interesting tactic, pal. Should try this out next time. Oh well, your win, my loss... Have fun, you two." And with that he turned and disappeared into the crowd.  
Grissom caught his breath, taking a long swig from his glass of water, while leaning slightly into his lover's embrace. Nick's arms were possessively around him and his body pressed close to Gil's. A nice feeling, a comfortable feeling, but also confusing.  
[Care to explain what that just was?] he signed when he finally stood back.  
 [It's called a kiss, Grissom] Nick grinned at him broadly. "Thought you've gotten used to that already, hm?"  
[I know it was a kiss, Nick. We're in public. Why... ?]  
"Was staking my claim, Gris. This guy had no business coming on to you like he did. You're mine. Just lettin' ev'rybody know. "  
Grissom did his best not to gape at his lover, for the first time in a long while too shocked to think clearly. Had there just been a growl in Nick's voice? Jealousy on his part? Because someone had made quite open advances on him?  
"I think you did," he finally managed.  
No one around them had taken any notice. Maybe when Nick had performed his tonsillectomy on him, but not now.  
"Good."  
Nick bent over, and this time the kiss was as gentle and loving as he was used to.  
"Now," Nick purred into his ear, " can I interest you in a dancing lesson later on?"  
Grissom smiled. "I think you can."  
"Here you go," the bar woman interrupted the two lovers. "Coffee, beer, the whole thing." She smiled at him. "Nice tactic, sweetheart," she told Nick.  
"Thank you."  
They took their orders and walked to their table.

*

Chris watched the display of jealousy and possession with an amused smile. Ezra stood beside him, an arm around his waist, leaning slightly into the taller man.  
"You could smell it all the way from here," he murmured.  
"The pheromones? Yep. I noticed it at the conference already, but didn't make the connection until I met Stokes. This just proves it." Chris chuckled. "Interesting pair."  
"They have something," Ezra agreed, hand rubbing over Chris's side.  
"Despite the age difference?" his lover teased.  
"We by far beat them at that," Standish replied, raising an eyebrow.  
"True."  
"Go back and talk to them, Chris. You've been itching to get to know Grissom better."  
Chris leaned over and kissed him gently. "Later."  
"Oh, definitely."

* * *

The second day of the conference found Grissom at another seminar, lecturing, answering questions, and Nick had a look around what discussions and slide views were offered. The whole conference center had been taken over by the crime lab people and the hopeful companies who wanted to sell their latest techno gizmos. At one of those booths, Nick ran into a young man, about Greg Sanders's age, with tousled black hair and the air of computer wizard around him. He was talking shop with one of the owners and Nick just stood back, enjoying the techno babble.  
"You really gave him a run for his money," Nick remarked when the salesman went over to another possible customer and the young man turned away, smiling broadly.  
"Yeah. He knows his stuff, but he's not gonna sell it to me."  
Nick glanced at the name tag. JD Dunne. Salt Lake.  
"You're local? Well, you don't happen to know Chris Larabee, hm?"  
"Graveyard shift supervisor," Dunne immediately answered. "We work together. He's my boss."  
"Nick Stokes," Nick introduced himself. "Las Vegas. Met your boss a while ago."  
Dunne grinned. "Yeah, I know. Shaman Hotel murder. You worked it."  
"Yep."  
They walked off into the crowd, talking, getting from work to hobbies to video games, and thirty minutes later found Nick arguing the pros and cons of the new play consoles with the younger man.

*

His second and last lecture had been the source of a long and animated discussion that had raised a lot of valid points. Grissom felt pleased with himself, with the attendees, with those who had asked intelligent questions. It was always good to be among his peers, those who understood his passion, or to explain it to those who somehow couldn't. Science was his life and he lived it to the fullest. He taught it wherever he was and to whoever wanted to listen.  
Stepping out of the conference room, he looked around for Nick. His lover had wanted to meet him after the seminar and grab a bite to eat.  
He found him sitting at one of the tables, a glass of ice tea in front of him, he was talking to a young man, late twenties maybe, with dark hair that was in wild disarray, wearing a wide smile. His eyes were dancing as he described something to Nick and from Nick's bright smile, he was having a good time.  
Gil didn't know why, but something with that innocent scene launched a stabbing pain inside him, something purely emotional. Seeing Nick with someone about his age, maybe a few years younger, just fueled his insecurities, pushing him deeper into the hole he sometimes found himself in.  
Nick's relaxed stance, his friendliness, the way he was so close to the other man – it was nothing but Nick's open way to greet someone, to accept him, but with Grissom, it left a bitter taste. The stab intensified and he frowned as he recognized it as jealousy. At what? The other man's age? His youthfulness? His looks.  
And resignation. Acceptance.  
Just eight months, that was all they had had. Eight months together and his greatest fear was suddenly taking form. Nick was turning to younger men.  
Grissom shook his head and fought back those feelings, those thoughts. There was no evidence! None at all. Nick hadn't so much as looked at a man or woman since they had become lovers.  
He swallowed hard. What am I thinking? Where is this coming from?  
Your own insecurities where Nick Stokes is concerned, a voice whispered. Despite his reassurances, you think he will leave you, Grissom.  
The world around him seemed to fade all of a sudden. Not from sight, but from sound. Everything was muted, as if his ears were packed in cotton wool.  
Dear God, no, not here!  
Grissom turned away from the friendly scene, unaware of the eyes watching him. He pushed through the other attendees, willing his ears to 'unclog'. He didn't need this on top of everything else!

*

Chris had been to Grissom's lecture and he hadn't been far behind the man when they had left the room. His nose twitched as he smelled the pheromones, quickly smothered by something bitter.  
He gazed over to the table where JD was currently quite animatedly talking to Nick Stokes.  
Realization wasn't far behind. Grissom and Nick's relationship was still too young to be on a firm ground where other male relationships outside the tight circle of friends both men had back in Vegas was concerned. And Grissom himself seemed unsure of his place when it came to Stokes.  
With a sigh and actually wondering why he even cared, he walked after the Vegas criminalist.  
"Dr. Grissom?"  
No reaction.  
"Dr. Grissom," he repeated.  
Grissom stopped, looking at him over the rim of his almost ever-present glasses. There was a moment of confusion, as if he hadn't really heard him the first time, then the criminalist smiled. But the smile was tight.  
"Mr. Larabee."  
"It's Chris."  
Grissom accepted with a brief smile. "What can I do for you, Chris?"  
"I was wondering if you might have some time after the last seminar today?"  
"Another beer at the little place you know?"  
Chris laughed, seeing the sparkle in the other man's eyes. "No, actually I was thinking some unhealthy food at the Coda. It's a bar a few blocks down the street. They make a mean stew."  
"You know the owner?"  
Larabee grinned. He liked Grissom, his little jabs, his humor. "Yes, I do. Her name is Jeannie Sutcliffe and she is in no way related to Ezra. If you want to, you can bring Nick along."  
Grissom shrugged. "I'm sure to ask him."  
"So it's a date?" Chris let his amusement leak through.  
He knew Grissom was either bi or gay, and Gil knew Chris was involved with a man, so the 'date' could be interpreted as either or.  
"It is." Amusement shone in the voice and a smile tugged at the criminalist's lips.  
"Great. Looking forward to it."  
With that, Chris waved and walked away, smiling. He was really looking forward to it, especially since Grissom was a capacity in the field of entomology and his lectures had woken an interest in Chris.  
And he doubted Gil Grissom was a man who couldn't discuss bugs and dead bodies over a stew.

* * *

It was late already. Past midnight, going on one a.m. Grissom inhaled the clear, warm evening air as he walked down the silent streets. He had declined Larabee's offer to drive him home. It would be nice to stretch his legs and the conference center wasn't all too far from here. Thirty minutes maximum.  
Of course, accepting the drive would have gotten him to Nick faster, Grissom thought with a smile. His lover was probably already back from his test crime scene, and knowing Nick, he wanted to talk about it. Gil was looking forward to it. Nick had a sharp mind and after he had finally realized that being good on the job to please Grissom was not the right approach to being a CSI, Nick had changed. He had always been efficient, but he had tried to prove himself. In Grissom's eyes, there was nothing to prove.  
Nick had come to Vegas because of Grissom and his reputation. A rookie CSI level one, just a year in this job, he had eagerly tried to live up to what he thought Grissom expected. But the older man didn't expect anything. He wanted his people to make the best out of themselves, apply their talents, and he didn't give them standards to go by. No limits, no expectations, just the job. Do it the best way you can; ask if you need answers.  
Today, Nick was a level three, he was dedicated, he was good, he was passionate, and he would go places, Grissom knew. A few more years, learning every day, applying what he learned, and Nick would make his way. It made him proud.  
And with the pride came the emotional pain. Because Nick would make his way, Grissom was sure that one day, Stokes would leave him. Maybe not over anyone he had met, but because of his career.  
His conversation with Larabee had been highly interesting and he had observed the other man, learned about him, found him a puzzle and an open book in one. Chris Larabee loved his job, had come from a police background, and had been through some intense training. He was proud of his team, too. Through carefully placed questions, Grissom had found out that the young man at Nick's table this afternoon was one of Larabee's men, a computer specialist, and engaged to a woman. It calmed his nerves a little and he had willingly and enthusiastically answered whatever Chris had asked him about his work.  
Passing by a dark side street, Grissom thought he saw something move in there. He walked into the street, drawn by his own curiosity, and stopped, frowning. There, next to a dumpster, lay something. Suddenly the criminalist froze. Horror flickered over his features, his eyes widened, and he heard someone gasp. Most likely him.  
The CSI sensed the presence behind him and whirled around all he was able to see in the blink of an eye was the blade reflecting the light of a street lamp. Trained eyes took in the tall, male figure, dressed in dark clothes. No facial features; they were hidden in the shadows.  
The blade rushed to meet his body.  
First he felt nothing but utter surprise when the knife sliced into his unprotected body,  lancing several organs and splitting a rib. Then the surprise turned into razor sharp pain when the blade was pulled out of his stomach with the same ferocity it had been thrust into him.  
As Gil Grissom slowly slid onto the cold concrete, a part of his mind was trying to get a grip on things, analyze what had just happened. Another part knew he was dying, and that part was winning in the end, filling him with dread, utter sadness and grief, wishing for his lover to be by his side, regretting all the things he hadn't done or said to Nick.  
Grissom sucked in a breath, noticing the way it was becoming harder and harder every time, noticing the way the flow of his blood was decreasing as his heart started to stumble, and he closed his eyes, feeling one lonely tear trickle down his cheek. The white hot agony that had clawed itself into his body and mind faded away slowly and finally stopped - with the last beat of Gil Grissom's heart.  
The famous Las Vegas CSI was dead.

* * *

Nick was in a good mood when he left the conference center and crossed over to the hotel. He had had a good time, talking shop with some colleagues from across the country, and he had even met a Mexican and a Canadian criminalist, who had drawn him into an animated discussion about the reconstruction of crime scenes on the computer versus the old-fashioned way, the paper and pen variant. The Canadian, a woman named Megan Beck, had dragged them over to one of the booths presenting the latest in software, asking the salesman to run them through a presentation. Nick had been duly impressed and the discussion had lasted long enough for him to almost forget time over it.  
Now, an hour later than he would have wanted, he was back in his hotel. Gil still wasn't back from his meeting with Larabee, but Nick suspected the two supervisors were just as immersed in their little talk as he had been with his colleagues.  
Suddenly something seemed to crawl up his spine, a feeling of dread and foreboding. It passed quickly, but it left Stokes with a queasy feeling, an unease he couldn't explain.  
Had to be the food, he decided. That curry hadn't really sat well with him, despite the fact that it had tasted great. He decided to grab a shower and take something to calm down his stomach later. It wouldn't really do to start heaving the moment Grissom came home.  
Another hour later, freshly showered, shaved and ready to seduce his lover to bed, Nick paced the hotel room. Grissom was never this late. If he was, he called. But attempts to reach him hadn't been met with success. No one answered the cell phone and the mailbox wasn't switched on, which meant Grissom wasn't somewhere private.  
Nick exhaled slowly.  
Okay, think logically. Where could he be? He had said he'd go out and meet with Chris Larabee for another beer. The two men had found that there were some topics for them to discuss, not all of them work-related.  
Call Larabee, Nick told himself. Maybe Gil's cell is broken. Might embarrass myself, checking on Grissom as if he was a child, but at least I'll know.  
So he dialed the number.

*

Chris was laying comfortably on the living room couch, reading the latest batch of forensic journals he had received, when the phone rang. His cell, no less. That meant work-related in one way or another.  
Picking it up, he answered. To his surprise, it was Nick Stokes.  
"No, he isn't with me any more. We parted at the Coda over two hours ago. He said he wanted to walk the few blocks to the center…. No… No, he didn't…. Sorry… Listen, I'll call Jeannie. She owns the Coda. I know her….. You stay put, I'll call back."  
Chris disconnected the call and frowned briefly. Grissom was still not back at the hotel and there was no doubt in his mind that the other man would go straight to his room, to his partner, and not stray around Salt Lake. Grissom wasn't the type.  
He called the Coda and checked whether or not Grissom had come back in, but Jeannie hadn't seen him again.  
"Something wrong?"  
Chris looked up and straight at Ezra, who was wearing a curious expression.  
"Grissom didn't get back to the hotel. Stokes called. He's been missing ever since I left him outside the Coda."  
"You think something happened?"  
"No idea, but we better check. I doubt he was snacked on by one of us, but there's more than just vampires out there."  
Ezra smiled grimly. "No vampire would dare attack a human in this city," he said, voice cold, decisive.  
Chris touched his cheek and stroked it once. "I know, Ez. I know. I just want to make sure he didn't get hurt."  
"Call the hospitals."  
Larabee nodded. "Will do. Then I want to go down to the Coda and have a look around."

* * *

The streets were deserted. A few early birds – or late patrons from the few still open restaurants and bars – were on the streets, but Chris and Ezra ignored them. The Coda had closed an hour ago and while Jeannie had still been awake and answered Chris's questions, she hadn't been able to help very much.  
"He should have walked that way," Chris said, pointing down the main road. "It's where the conference center is."  
Ezra nodded. "There are several routes to take, but we might want to start with the most likely first. We best split up and take a side of the road each."  
Chris agreed and took the opposite side.  
The two vampires quickly but thoroughly worked their way down the blocks. Each side street was examined as sensitive noses took in the scent around them, eyes that saw in the dark searched even the darkest corner for a sign of the missing man.  
The moment Ezra entered the fourth side street, he felt the hairs on his neck stand up. He was puzzled for a second and highly alarmed, eyes glowing in the dark to find whatever it was that had startled him. Then his nostrils flared with the coppery scent, and the alarm turned into anxiety. Following the trial of the scent down the dark, narrow street, he first found the patch of glistening blood, already partially dried. It was a large amount, larger than just a small cut.  
He followed the smeared trail, the scent intensifying. The vampire inside of him growled, reacting to the amount of blood. A rather large amount, he thought with a sick feeling.  
The stench that suddenly hit his nose nearly made him gag. The trail had led to a dumpster at the back of a building, overflowing with trash bags, some of them split open. Rotting food and old paper, bottles and cartons covered the street.  
Standish gasped in shock at the sight of the body, slightly curled up on the ground, lying in a puddle of blood and in the middle of the heap. He didn't need to kneel at the man's side, didn't need to check for a pulse. He could hear it, see it, feel it. He was looking at a corpse and it was the body of Gil Grissom.  
"Damn," Ezra muttered, sadness filling him at the memory of how Gil and Chris had argued a case, Grissom's eyes had danced at the riddle that was one Chris Larabee for him, or how he had met the famous CSI for the first time in Las Vegas, on his home turf.  
Chris had talked about him several times, and somehow Ezra had thought he had heard something like hero worship in Chris's voice. Though Grissom hadn't been much older than his lover, he had been a legend in his time. At least among his colleagues. Ezra sighed deeply, remembering the way the young Nick Stokes had looked at the man at his side, the way the pheromones had suddenly filled the space around those two, and Ezra had to smile sadly.  
Now somebody would have to deliver the bad news to Nick, would have to tell him the man he loved had been brutally killed, slashed by a knife and bled to dead. Alone. Ezra could imagine only too well how Stokes would feel.  
Ezra glanced one last time at the man who could have become a friend, would things have developed in another direction, and inhaled deeply, reaching for his cell. Maybe he wasn't a CSI himself, but being the life partner of one had taught him a lot about crime scenes. He would call Chris.  
Something caught his attention and he took a closer look. Then another one. He stepped closer, kneeled down and tried his best to ignore the wet stickiness that slowly soaked his pants. He grabbed the man's torn and blood soaked shirt, and ripped it open.  
"Shit!" the vampire swore. "Thank goodness I'm already dead, or Chris would kill me."  
Then he slipped out of his jacket and carefully put it under the man's head. He took out his cell-phone and hit the speed dial for Chris's number.  
"I found him," he said calmly. "Get the car and meet me at the corner of 5th. I'll explain later."  
And then he waited.

*

It was cold. It was dark.  
He was cold.  
Sucking in a deep breath felt like he hadn't done this simple reflexive act of life in ages. His lungs were burning with the cold air, and in his ears he could hear the thunder of his own rushing blood, pumped through his veins by the drum of his own heart.  
It hurt.  
Yet it didn't.  
He attempted another breath, satisfied by the way his lungs expanded. Letting the air out again, feeling his chest fall, rise with the next breath. The air seemed to become warmer with the minute, and it wasn't so dark anymore. The scent that hung in the air reminded him of something, something familiar... He twitched, moved a little, heard a distant moan and realized it must have been his own voice. He clenched his fist around a wet and cold piece of clothing. His shirt, wet... sticky. He now recognized the coppery scent: blood. Mixed with rotting food and other, gagging smells.  
Somehow the thought that he was smelling his own blood made his head swim.  
Why should he smell his own blood?  
Why should he smell anything at all?  
\-- Shouldn't be able to...  
Why not?  
\-- Dead...  
This time his heart was skipping a beat, and fear gripped at him, memories of a silvery flash, a stab, pain... Gil Grissom gasped in sudden panic and rolled onto his side, only barely noticing the provisional pillow his head had been lying on.  
"Welcome back, Mr. Grissom,"    an oddly familiar voice said calmly, and he rolled around, coming up on his knees.  
Something squished underneath him, but he ignored it. The soft, catlike green glow of two eyes in the semi-darkness made him stumble back.  
"There is no need to be frightened, Mr. Grissom, I mean you no harm. I believe you are deeply confused now. If you have calmed down, I suggest to get to my place and we will answer any questions you might have," Ezra Standish said, regarding him quietly.  
"What...?" Grissom glanced down at his hands, the hands he had clenched over the stab wound.  
They were covered in drying blood. His shirt was soaked in it, and he could still make out the rip where the knife had cut through it. Yet his body was uninjured... now. Gil swallowed down his shock and confusion, trying to view this as a riddle that cried to be solved.  
"Nick?" he croaked, shocked to hear how raw his voice seemed to sound.  
"We'll notify him immediately. You'll need him now."  
Grissom just nodded and took the offered hand to help him up - and hold him steady, as his knees threatened to buckle.  
"Easy, easy. There you go." Surprisingly strong hands held him upright, alert eyes watched him cautiously. "I know how it feels. "  
"Why, have you been woken from the dead as well?" Grissom couldn't help the sarcastic remark.  
There was a second of hesitation in the other man, then green eyes met blue.  
"In fact - I have."

* * *

Nick Stokes was pacing. It had been hours since Grissom had left the hotel room, and he should really have been back by now. Something wasn't right, he could feel it in his gut. Thirty minutes later he was ready to climb up the walls.  
When the phone rang he jumped, needing to take some deep breaths to calm himself down.  
"Gil?"  
"No. Larabee. Mr. Stokes, I ... "  
"How is he? How is Grissom?"  
Nick had absolutely no idea what made him ask this without the slightest trace of evidence. Grissom would be disappointed should he ever get to know. But his instincts were screaming at him and currently, they drowned out everything else.  
There was a slight hesitation on the other side, and it didn't do anything to reduce his fears.  
"Mr. Stokes, maybe you should come over to our place. In fact, a car's already on its way to pick you up."  
"How is Grissom?" he demanded.  
"You'll see."  
Then there was only the dial tone.  
Nick felt the pressing need to smash the phone against the next wall. The sound of the shattering plastic made him feel better. For a whole three seconds.

*

The 'car' had been a limousine, driven by a man dressed up in a suit. He had politely opened the door for Nick, who had impatiently demanded to know what was going on. The driver had simply told him he didn't know and then drove off into the night.  
Standish's place was a mansion, a huge, old building that easily held three or four separate apartments. Nick had no eye for the old beauty. He stormed up to the entrance, where Chris Larabee was already waiting for him.  
"What happened?" he demanded.  
"Someone attacked Grissom."  
Nick felt like kicked in the gut. "What...?" he croaked. "Gil!"  
He pushed past the taller man and found himself in a large entrance hall. Panic welled up inside of him.  
"Left," Larabee instructed calmly.  
Stokes walked quickly into the apartment, eyes roaming around the living room, searching for his lover.  
And they settled on the man on the couch.  
"Gil..." he breathed  
Grissom's clothes were torn in places, blood all over his shirt front, his pants, his sleeves. There were splotches of something hideously green or brown on the shirt and pants, too, and the smell was rather ripe, but right at the moment, Nick couldn't have cared less.  
"I'm okay..." Grissom whispered, voice wobbly.  
Nick swallowed hard, his face as white as a sheet, matching Grissom's. "You... you... the blood..."  
Gil reached out with one hand and Nick reacted immediately, without thinking. One knee on the couch, taking his weight, the other leg still on the floor, he pulled Grissom against his chest, his chin resting on the gray hair. Hands clenched into his shirt, holding on, silent and desperate.  
He didn't care about the blood-soaked clothes or the smell. All Nick wanted was to hold the man he loved.  
"Gil," he whispered.  
Tremors ran through the normally so controlled man, tremors Nick had never felt before. It was so weird, so uncommon, it scared him even more than the blood.  
"What happened?" he asked, rubbing the tense shoulders. "Oh God, what happened?"  
"I was attacked. He had a knife," came the stumbling words. "I... never saw him, Nicky. I..."  
Nick froze at the words. "The blood..." he asked, his own voice alien to him. "It's... yours....?"  
The hands clenched again and he felt Grissom nod his head against his chest.  
"He grazed you?"  
"No. Not a graze." The voice was barely audible now and the tremors started again. Stronger now. "Nick... I think I died."  
"What?!" Nick blurted, too shocked to do much more. He pushed Grissom slightly away from him, staring into the terrified blue eyes, taking in the chalky white face, and the blood everywhere. "Gris....?"  
"I think I... died," Grissom repeated shakily. "He stabbed me... I felt it... the knife..."  
Tremulous fingers picked at the stained clothes, slipping into the tears. Nick caught the questing hands, holding them, then, with trepidation, lifted the edges of the tear.  
There was nothing but smooth skin.  
No wounds, no scratches, nothing. Unharmed.  
"Nothing," he whispered.  
"I felt the knife," Gil repeated. He swallowed convulsively, close to losing it.  
"Dr. Grissom," a new voice intruded.  
Nick looked up and at Standish. The man looked a bit... nervous? Squeamish? No, not really squeamish. Something else.  
"You should rest."  
Grissom stared at the other man. He looked exhausted. "What happened?" he whispered.  
The green eyes caught and held the wide blue ones. "You died, Dr. Grissom."  
Nick felt his breath catch in his throat, felt the man in his arms shiver, and somewhere deep inside him, fear turned into horror.  
"The one who attacked you, stabbed you," Standish went on. "I found you later. You were dead. Then you came back."  
"That's... impossible," Nick choked.  
Standish smiled sadly. "I'd agree if I didn't know better, Mr. Stokes. But Dr. Grissom died and he came back. I'll explain it all to you, but for now, you should take a shower, wash off the blood, and we'll get you something to wear. Then you should sleep. Your body went through a lot, used up all the energy it could spare and maybe more, and you have to rest."  
“As if we could rest now,” Nick snorted.  
Ezra simply pointed toward Grissom, and after a glance at his lover Nick had to admit it might be a good idea after all. Gil looked ready to keel over, which really didn’t come as a surprise.  
There would be more questions later, when the brain had started to actually work on what it had been presented with. Right now, all that counted was that Grissom was safe, that he was alive, and Nick vowed he wouldn't leave his side.  
“Chris, maybe you’d be so kind as to show our guests the way to the bathroom. I’m sure you both like to clean up. We have a guestroom ready where you can spend the night. You shouldn’t have to drive back to the hotel, not in your current condition,” Ezra announced calmly.  
Nick wrapped his arms around the still shaking form of Gil Grissom and nodded.  
Chris rose and pointed toward the door. “This way, please. I’ll give you both some spare clothes.”

Guiding the two men to the bathroom, making sure they had everything they might need, Chris carefully took the blood soaked clothes Grissom had simply thrown off of him, and let them slide into a plastic bag. It was evidence nonetheless.

*

Walking into the living room where his lover was still waiting for him, Chris closed his eyes for a second and rubbed them tiredly.  
"Damn," he murmured. “Phoenix?”  
"Yes," Ezra sighed. "He'll have a hard time accepting the truth."  
Larabee nodded and plopped down onto the couch. "He's never had any exposure to the paranormal before and while I had problems with Travis's explanation about what you are and what our first case was about, I was never personally involved until much later. Grissom was thrown in head first."  
"At least Stokes knows about it. It helps," Ezra said softly.  
Yes, Nick knew and it was a support Grissom needed. Chris had watched the younger man, had seen the emotions boil close to the surface. The horror, the fear, the disbelief, it was a dangerous mix and while Nick had held it together, right now at the moment everybody was too shocked to think about anything else, Chris didn't know how long he could do it. Grissom would need an anchor and Nick had no one to fall back upon. He also didn't trust anyone from their group, which was only understandable, given the way they had met.  
"You'll want my clothes," Ezra said, starting to undress. "Evidence."  
Chris nodded. "I'll get a plastic bag."  
Ezra was soon in his underwear, shooting Chris a little smile as his lover sealed the bag. "I'll take a shower, then make a few calls. Especially to Vegas. Danielle needs to know, as well as Nandi. Nandi might just be able to help us there."  
"Good idea. They'll need someone at home to talk to, though I doubt Grissom would actually open up to anyone."  
"There's always Sanders. He's an ally."  
"And Grissom's subordinate."  
"Things have changed," Ezra reminded him. "For both of them, as well as for everyone who knows either of the two."  
"Yeah… I know. I know."  
Chris ran a hand through his hair, then reached for his cell phone.  
"Yes, Chris here. I need someone to process an unofficial crime scene… yes, unofficial… Dr. Grissom was attacked a few hours ago in an alley four blocks away from the Coda. I'll give you the address in a moment…. Vin, he was killed… No, we can't make it official, 'cause he's still alive." Chris smiled grimly as he listened to Vin's exclamation. "If you're about done guessing what he is….? Yes, later. Just get over there. Take Josiah or JD with you. Buck's still working his case. Process, take with you whatever seems suspicious. If you have trouble with someone, call me back. I'll handle Travis if it comes to that…. Yeah… Uh-huh… Thanks, Vin."  
He hung up and looked at his lover.  
"That's that. Now we should talk with someone about our late Mr. Grissom. We have next to no idea what a Phoenix really is and he will want answers."  
"Agreed. I'll call Thea, see if she has anything. You want to give Reed a try?"  
"Won't hurt me to."  
And with that, both men got busy.

* * *

The guest room was as large as their hotel room, very comfortable, and came with a small bathroom that included a shower. Nick hadn't left his lover alone for a second and even if he might have tried, Gil was as clinging and needy as Stokes. They showered together, but there was nothing sexual or erotic about it. Nick's eyes were riveted to the unblemished, smooth skin of Grissom's stomach. His hands, as they washed him, searched for injuries and found none.  
Now, dressed in borrowed clothes, the two men lay in the large bed, Nick holding the older man close to him. His hand strayed down to the place where Gil claimed he had felt the knife slice into his body, but the uninjured skin didn't change. No sudden, gaping wounds, no scars, nothing.  
Grissom had died. He claimed he had felt it. The pain, the blood loss, the darkness. But he was alive!  
Stroking his hands over the shivering form clinging to him, Nick tried to rationalize what had happened. He just couldn't believe it, but from Grissom's current state of mind, his emotional breakdown, his behavior.... no! No one died and came back. No one! That was fiction.  
Grissom's breath hitched in his throat and a dry sob shook him. Nick tightened his hold, drew him closer, whispering soft words. His lover was exhausted, but he still hadn't found any rest, though he wouldn't be able to stay awake much longer.  
"It happened, Nicky," Grissom moaned. "I know it's impossible, but it happened."  
"Sshhhh," he whispered, pressing a kiss against the curly hair. "Sleep."  
Gil's violently trembling hands held onto Nick, unable and unwilling to let go. The normally so unflappable man had been badly shaken.

It took another hour but Grissom finally succumbed to his body's needs. Nick didn't follow. He sat with his lover, watching the rise and fall of the broad chest, still searching for any kind of injury and finding none.  
What had happened?

* * *

Vin had parked the car at the mouth of the alley, carrying his field kit and the camera to where Grissom had been found. Josiah was busy marking and photographing the blood leading to the dumpster, always scanning for any kind of evidence with his flashlight.  
"Looks like he was stabbed here," the profiler said thoughtfully. "Lots of blood. He collapsed and was dragged deeper into the alley right… here."  
Sanchez stopped next to the dumpster, careful not to step into anything. Everything could be evidence.  
Vin nodded. "He bled out here," he commented, pointing at the large blood stain. "Damn."  
"Probably hit the liver, maybe the stomach or the lungs, too, depending on the angle," Sanchez agreed. "It was over quickly."  
They searched through the garbage for the better part of two hours, but there was hardly anything conclusive.  
"Got anything?" Josiah wanted to know.  
"A footprint in the blood. Smeared," Vin answered, pointing at the ground.  
Josiah shone his flashlight on it. It was pretty much useless. There was hardly anything visible.  
"Some more over there, but only two are actually of use," Tanner went on. "I printed them and took some photos. I also found his wallet." An evidence bag was raised into the light. "Money's gone, as far as I could see, everything else is there."  
With their evidence, the two criminalists went back to the car, stowing the samples and field kits.  
"I'll run the samples through DNA," Vin volunteered.  
"Okay." Josiah checked his watch. "I'll grab a shower and some sleep."  
Vin sniffed at his clothes and grimaced. "Shower's a damn good idea," he muttered.

* * *

Grissom woke to the feeling of warmth and comfort, the presence of a hard body next to him, around him, holding him. For just a moment, in the state between sleep and waking, he luxuriated in its presence, feeling safe and secure. Nick's arms held him close and the younger man's body seemed to want to wrap himself around him in every place that was in reach.  
And then the memories from last night slammed in, bringing with it all the ugliness, the confusion, the nightmarish moment of... his death.  
Grissom gasped involuntarily, feeling the control that had reasserted itself shatter and break. The instinctive part that made up his mind was screaming at him, wanting to run and hide, while the analytical one tried to cope with the hard facts.  
Gather the evidence, he told himself in the turmoil of raging emotions.  
Calm down. You're a scientist. Look at the evidence.  
He had been stabbed with a knife and bled to death.  
End of evidence, end of gathering, start panic.  
By now, the warm cocoon of strong arms had shifted and Nick Stokes had woken to his lover's distress. As the night before, he whispered soft, calming words, stroked his skin gently, massaged him, comforted him. And Grissom simply accepted it. He needed the human contact like he had never needed it before. He was afraid that he was losing his mind and whatever he tried, it all came back to the moment of his death.  
The terror returned, the fear he had felt when his life had slipped away, when the regret had been overwhelming. He gulped for air, his lungs constricting, tightening, and he moaned.  
"Gil?"  
It was a soft breath against his ear, the warm, Texan accent floating over him.  
"Gil, it's okay."  
No, it wasn't. He had died. I'm dead, he wanted to scream, but his heartbeat begged to differ. He was alive.  
Finally he managed to take a deep breath, then another.  
"I'm sorry," Grissom rasped, trying to untangle himself from Nick, ashamed of his loss of control, but his lover refused to let go.  
"Don't fight what you need," Nick murmured. "I'm here."  
So he stayed, surrendering to the need, the craving, the presence of Nick around him. Grissom tried to blank his mind, lose himself in the stroking sensations, and slowly, he felt his body relax.  
"It wasn't a dream," he finally murmured, calmer than before, but not really back to his old self. There was no old self. Something had forever changed and someone had the answers.  
Nick rubbed his cheek against Gil's hair. "We'll get answers," he promised, as if reading his lover's mind.

Chris had been up all night, trying to deal with the events just like everyone else, talking to Vin and Josiah, getting the news on the crime scene.  
For Gil Grissom, things would change. Abruptly, rapidly and without a chance to get off the ride. The man had been killed and come back, without having been turned by a vampire.  
Phoenix.  
He shivered. Chris had met only one Phoenix before and that had been a psychopathic killer set out on destroying Chris Larabee and nearly killing his son Andrew. Now Grissom had turned out to be one, too, and he hadn't even known it.  
So when the Las Vegas CSI finally walked into the living room at around eleven a.m., Chris briefly scanned over him, as if trying to ascertain the man was no danger. From the haggard, haunted looks, Grissom was a far cry from being dangerous. Nick hovered at his side, pale but composed, constantly touching his lover. A hand on the small of his back, on his arm, against his side or waist. He wouldn't leave him without contact and Chris smiled slightly.  
Good.  
Support was the best there was.  
"Good morning," he greeted the pair, receiving a nod from both men and a mumbled reply from Stokes. "Hungry?"  
"Strangely enough yes," Grissom replied, voice firm, but the ragged expression in his eyes belied the calmness. He was trying to deal and that gave Chris hope.  
"All right. Make yourselves comfortable, I'll get some coffee and toast. We don't have much here right now, but I guess I can borrow some from Vin and Buck."  
It was an understatement. They had nothing but blood at home, with some snacks in case Chris had his munchies attacks. Vin and Buck would have human food and Chris planned on raiding their fridge to the fullest.  
Ezra stepped into the living room, closing his cell phone in the process, smiling at the two men. "I called Nandi," he addressed Chris. "She promised to help. Nathan'll drop by the moment he's up. Dr. Grissom, Dr. Jackson will be here in an hour or two to check you."  
Grissom just nodded. "Okay."  
Nick's eyes hardened all of a sudden. "Care to tell us what happened now?" he demanded.  
Ezra sighed and settled into a chair. "It's complicated and it will probably shatter a lot of believes..."  
"I died, Mr. Standish," Grissom said calmly, voice level, but the way his hand clenched around his lover's was tell-tale enough, "it shattered enough believes."  
Ezra nodded. Chris left them long enough to get the coffee he had already prepared. Grissom curled his fingers around the mug while Nick transferred his touch to the older man's thigh, unconsciously massaging it gently.  
"What I'm going to explain to you will be rather... fantastic," Ezra began, "but please bear with me. I'm not making this up." He waited for the nod, then continued. "The world you know isn't the only one that exists. There is another one, one that harbors what societies and cultures throughout the world have only seen as myths and fairy tales. You've become one of them, Dr. Grissom. You are what we call a Phoenix."  
Grissom tilted his head slightly. "The mythical bird born from flames, immortal because it keeps renewing itself when the time to die comes."  
Ezra nodded. "Exactly. Like many, the Phoenix is nothing but a fairy tale in the modern world, but it is real. You are real. Tell me, when did you die the last time?"  
Grissom stiffened and Chris exchanged a look with Ezra. Bingo.  
"Gil?" Nick asked, fear in his voice.  
"I don't know what you mean," Grissom said, voice sounding slightly strangled.  
"From your looks, you must have died once before," Ezra elaborated. "No more than ten years, though."  
Gil met his eyes with a hard, unyielding expression, and Ezra had to smile.  
“You don’t have to answer, Dr. Grissom. I know you did.”  
"Seven years," came the answer after another silence. "I had acute appendicitis. After surgery, the doctor said they had lost me on the table once but managed to revive me."  
Nick's hand on Grissom's thigh clenched and the older man grasped it, threading his fingers through Nick's.  
"It was the moment the Phoenix was woken," Ezra explained. "Last night you died again, healing yourself once more."  
"This is bullshit!" Stokes exclaimed. "You wanna tell me Grissom's some kind of Highlander?"  
Ezra smiled with some humor. "The movie industry picks up on the legends. With some variations."  
"What's next? Vampires? Demons? Werewolves?" Nick demanded, eyes flashing. "This is a load a' crap!"  
Standish tilted his head. "It isn't, Mr. Stokes. Except for the demons, that is. They don't exist."  
Grissom's face had the unhealthy shade of chalk by now and Chris was afraid the man would shatter any moment. Gil Grissom was a scientist. He lived in a world of logic and mathematics. This would destroy all he had believed in.  
"Dr. Grissom," he said softly, "I'm a scientist like you. I come from the same background, I work the same job, and until a few years back, I didn't know or believe it either. Ezra was my first contact into the world of the paranormal and a lot has changed since then. My team always worked the unexplainable cases, but now we also work the supernatural. All of my men had contact with it in one way or another. All of them are 'it', one way or another."  
Chris let the words sink in. Grissom had an agile, sharp mind. He wanted to give the man the chance to think it through himself.  
Finally those dark blue eyes rose and looked at him speculatively. "So what are you, Mr. Larabee?"  
Chris smiled humorlessly. "I'm a vampire."  
For second, Nick just stared at him, then he started laughing. It wasn't hysterical, it was just disbelieving.  
"You gotta be kidding me!"  
"No, I don't," Chris answered seriously.  
"You suffer from Porphyria?" Grissom asked, voice even and stronger than before.  
Ezra cocked his head questioningly, shooting Chris an inquisitive look. "Porphyria?" he echoed.  
"It's a genetic disease," Grissom readily explained. "People with porphyria have a sensitive skin. It is easily damaged and the damaged areas take a long time to heal. Sunlight is necessary to cause the skin to become fragile and people with porphyria find that the only parts of their bodies that are affected are those that are exposed to light, particularly their hands, faces, necks, legs and feet. They develop blisters and open sores."  
Grissom recited the facts calmly, sounding like a doctor talking to a patient.  
"People are treated with haeamatin, which results in the illness being called 'vampirism' in layman's terms," he added.  
Chris smiled grimly, shaking his head. "Well, it's not that. And I can prove it."  
"You turn into a bat?" Stokes asked sarcastically.  
Chris chuckled. "No. And I don't burn when liberally sprinkled with holy water, nor do get blisters from crosses. And the fangs are a hoax, too."  
"Not much of a vampire then."  
"You'd be surprised."  
Grissom watched him with a single-minded intensity, as if trying to read his mind. Chris found it slightly disturbing. Slowly, with a measure of control, he let the vampire surface, the eyes turning from hazel to amber.  
"That is the only outward sign," he explained calmly, noting the shock in both men's faces, though in Grissom's it was better controlled. "And then there is what we call the hunting skill."  
Grissom looked curious, quizzical. "Hunting skill," he repeated.  
"Yes. Vampires don't prey on humans to kill them. They drink blood because they have to, be it human or animal, but nature has given us a skill that makes it easier for both parties. Pleasurable, even." Chris let the glow fade from his eyes.  
"Huh, right. You can say all you want, but only 'cause your eyes glow, you aren't a vampire."  
"You want me to demonstrate?"  
Nick looked challengingly at him. Chris nodded, accepting.  
"Please keep in mind - you asked for it."  
"Just do whatever…" He waved his hand.

The next thing Nick knew was he lay flat on his stomach, something very sharp was pushing at his neck, and Chris's soft voice dropped into his ear.  
"Don't move!"  
Nick froze, feeling the pressure on his back, the hot breath on his neck and the vice-like grip on his arm. After some seconds Chris loosened his hold and got off him, stretching out a hand to help him up again.  
"This was one way. Fast movement, extended physical strength, easy kill. Mostly the victim doesn't even realize what hits it. It's a method used to hunt animals. Are you okay, Nick?"  
"I'm... yes, I'm fine." Nick inhaled deeply.  
Shit, he hadn't even seen the man coming. One heartbeat to the next. Shakily, he glanced at Gil, who wore an expression of unmasked, shocked surprise  
"You said this was one way. There are more?" Stokes managed.  
"Oh yes. The other way is more subtle."  
"Show me."  
"You sure?"  
"Yeah."  
Something inside of Nick screamed its protest, but now that he was in it with both feet, he would see it through. He was a scientist and this was an experiment. He might not be a Gil Grissom, but he came from the same background.  
"Knowing what I am, I doubt you would actually 'donate' your blood to me, correct?" Larabee asked, smiling.  
"No way."  
"Good. In thirty seconds you will kneel before me, pleading me to take, to drink, to make you mine. You will offer your heart, your soul to me, and you will do it out of your own free will. And you will feel deeply pleasured, you will feel the intense need to provide me with your living essence, to let me drink from you, and you would even let me swallow your heart blood without hesitation or fight. The thought to resist will not even occur to you, it will no longer be an option."  
As Chris had started to speak, Nick had listened, frowning, everything inside of him rebelling at the mere thought of him begging a vampire - IF  Larabee was a vampire, that was; Nick still doubted that severely -- begging a vampire to suck his blood. He listened to the soft, honey-like voice, slightly roughened but to his ears wonderfully smooth and enticing. It dripped into his mind. He could listen to that voice all night...  
Something hot touched his wrist.  
Nick blinked and focused on that sensation.  
The hot sensation were Chris's lips, caressing the bare skin on his wrist with a featherlike kiss.  
Nick gasped in utter shock, as he realized what just had happened, noticed his racing heartbeat, his heavy breathing. Hell, he was almost panting! Desire raced through him as he met the deep, hazel eyes. His whole body shook with it, needing the man in front of him, wanting him with every fiber of his being, surrender everything to him. Chris Larabee was sex incarnate, lust and need combined in a heady mixture that had Nick almost moaning with desire.  
Chris released his arm, smiling faintly. Ezra stepped up to him and handed Larabee what looked like a white plastic bottle, and Chris took a deep swallow of... Nick shuddered at the sight and swayed a little. The next moment he was caught and led back to his chair  
When had he gotten up? When had he willingly followed Larabee across the room?  
"The skin isn't broken. I didn't harm you, Nick," Chris said, voice soothing, calming, but without the sexual vibrations to it that had been there before. "I never will, that is a promise. I don't hunt."  
"Good to know ... " Nick croaked.  
"Nicky?"  
Grissom's voice was soft, inquisitive, almost afraid. Nick gave him a shaky smile, touching his lover, needing the reassurance as much as Grissom.  
"What was that ...?"  
"Some kind of hypnosis. It's part of our nature."  
"Gawd…."  
"You should get something to eat," Chris decided. "After that, we can discuss whatever you want."  
"The hotel…" Grissom started, but stopped when Ezra shook his head.  
"You should stay here. You're safe here. We're friends."  
From both their expressions, the vampire seemed to read just how much that reassured them: not an inch.  
Suddenly a thought hit Nick. "The man… who stabbed Grissom…" He just couldn't get himself to say 'killed'.  
"We're investigating the crime scene," Larabee told them. "If there is even the faintest of clues… we'll find him."  
"You'll want my statement," Grissom said levelly.  
Hazel eyes looked at the other man. "Yes. Whenever you're ready."  
Grissom smiled faintly. "The best time is immediately, when the memories are still fresh."  
"Okay, if you're up to it… let's start."

* * *

"Most of the blood we found was Grissom's," Vin told his boss and friend over the phone.  
"Most of it?"  
"Well, we also got some animal. At least we think it is."  
Chris frowned. "Explain."  
Vin sighed deeply. "What we have is something that looks like someone threw human blood together with animal. Canine, to be exact. The lab took it apart, but they can't make neither heads nor tails of it. It's not two blood samples mixed and shaken, Chris. It's from the same source."  
“Canine and human?"  
"Yep. Really weird, huh? And the best is, there's some on Grissom's shirt, too."  
Chris paced a few feet. "What else?"  
"The print is smeared to the point of being completely useless, but Gina down in Trace wants to give it a try anyway. She can't promise miracles, though. We can't do anything with the hair and fibres, except extract the DNA. With nothing to compare it to, it's a dead end."  
Chris sighed and looked at Grissom, who was listening to the conversation. Chris had put it on the speakers.  
"Thanks, Vin."  
"No problem. I'll be back later to grab a few Z's."  
"Okay."  
Chris hung up, feeling cheated out of a crime scene.

Ever since this morning, his world was no longer just unhinged. It was out of control, shattered, broken, and the healing process would take a while.  
Gil Grissom was an academic. He had gone through the whole program, he had studied several courses of science, he had a wide field of interest, but never in all his life had he encountered this. Vampires, werewolves, immortals, witches and warlocks... Not as stories had them, not as the movie industry depicted them, but still some traits stayed. While the two vampires had no fangs, couldn't turn into bats and weren't afflicted by the many tools books said would help, they were wary of sunlight and did need blood. Then there were the werewolves and the magic users... and himself.  
Within the chaos of Gil's mind was Nick, his anchor. The younger man refused to let go, his hand fluttering over him in calming motions, holding on, stroking, caressing, squeezing. Grissom wondered how much was for Nick's comfort.  
So Larabee and Standish were vampires. Two of the team were werewolves. One was a warlock.  
It was too fantastic to believe, but the evidence was there for him to see.  
And he was immortal. A Phoenix.  
He had died. He had come back.  
Evidence.  
Evidence doesn't lie.  
Never. He had learned that.  
"Mwwrrrrrt?"  
A small black head peeked around the doorframe, green eyes regarding the two men curiously. The small black cat pricked her ears and sniffed the air, before slowly coming closer. Grissom watched the animal give him an inquisitive look, before rubbing her head against his leg, purring. Somehow it sounded satisfied. But then something seemed to catch her attention as she stopped purring, sniffed the air again and turned toward Nick. Suddenly the feline's entire body language spoke of careful concentration as she slowly approached his lover.  
"Uh-oh ... Shawn ...?"  
Grissom looked from the cat to Standish, finding the man frowning down at the little cat.  
"Mrr."  
The feline's tail tip was flicking as she hopped onto the couch, tilting her head from one side to the other, as if not sure what it was that was confusing her.  
"Shawn?"  
She shot one look over her shoulder, and somehow Grissom got the impression she was telling her owner to back off and let her proceed. Standish sighed.  
"What's going on here?" Nick asked, puzzlement written all over his face, looking down at the cat.  
The vampire sighed again, sounding resigned. "Ehm - let's put it this way: she's checking you out. And somehow I got the feeling I won't like what she'll find, right, cat?"  
"Mwww?"  
"Yes, I'm talking to you. Don't you get ideas, missy. No getting pregnant again, you hear?"  
"Mphh."  
“Pregnant?”  
“Last time she did this we ended up with a litter of four, another vampire and a warlock.”  
“Uh …?” Nick stuttered.  
Chris grinned. "Long story."  
The cat had in the meantime made her way onto Nick’s lap, front paws resting on his chest so she was able to look directly into his eyes, tail still flicking.  
“Rrrrr?” another sound could be heard from the door.  
This time it was a small silver tabby, huge green eyes watching the two men on the couch. The black cat gave a small meowing sound, and the newcomer jumped onto the couch, sniffing at Nick’s finger.  
Stokes sat still as statue, not really sure what to do.  
“Oh great, company," Standish complained. "Well, what’s your result, ladies?”  
“Mwwwrrrr!”  
"Mew," came the answer and the black cat climbed onto Grissom's lap, completely ignoring whatever he might have uttered as a protest.  
"She's reacting to your distress," Standish explained, shrugging.  
"Ah."  
"Mrrrt." Shawn curled up and settled down on the man's lap, then started purring more.  
Nick was scratching the little silver tabby behind the ears.  
“So, what IS the result?” he wanted to know.  
Grissom noticed the expression on Standish’s face, that spoke of deep resignation.  
“You don’t want to know.”  
"And you don't know anything about it, too," he added.  
The vampire flashed him a smile. "But I know where to ask."

* * *

The arrival of Nathan Jackson, accompanied by Josiah Sanchez, in the early afternoon was followed by a close and thorough examination of Grissom. The CSI let Nathan do whatever needed to be done, watching, observing, asking few questions. Nick was always at his side, sharp eyes on Nathan as he found nothing wrong with Grissom. Not the slightest scratch.  
"I know its hard to digest it all," Nathan said as he wrapped up his instruments and stowed them. "Especially for an academic. Nothing of this is in any books." He smiled slightly. "At least not those for sale. If you're interested, I can give you access to my research. It might help you clear up a lot of things."  
Grissom studied him, dark blue eyes searching for something and apparently finding it. "Thank you, Dr. Jackson."  
"It's Nathan, and you're welcome."  
The two men exchanged brief smiles.  
"Oh, and if I can get our two vampires here to donate some blood, you can do your own lab work."  
Ezra rolled his eyes. "Why is it that I always end up at the wrong end of a needle with you, Nathan?"  
Jackson chuckled.

Throughout it all, Josiah looked at the other man, elated and sad in one. A Phoenix, an immortal being -- as long as there was enough of the body left to regenerate. There were ways to kill a Phoenix. Warlocks could. Incinerating a body was a sure way to stop regeneration.  
Now there was a new Phoenix and Grissom was trying to cope with the news. Not only was he a paranormal, he had suddenly been thrust into a world he had never heard of before.  
"Things might be confusing now, Dr. Grissom," the profiler said calmly as Nathan got his blood from both Chris and Ezra. "But it will get better soon. Getting used to being a Phoenix is not as bad as suddenly being a vampire or werewolf or magic user. You have no active powers you need to control, no strange cravings, no problems with lunar cycles. I won't say you'll get used to dying, though."  
He watched the younger of the two Vegas CSIs shudder and smiled sympathetically.  
"It's always painful when you die by force. Old age is another matter. And you have to learn to rearrange your life because of it. In about ten years, I'd start thinking about a new line of work. Or after you actually die in front of a colleague."  
Grissom said nothing, just looked at him, eyes holding that ragged expression Josiah knew so well.  
"But that's what we're here for. Vampires have a great deal of experience in reorganizing their lives. For a Phoenix, there never was much support in my past. But you won't have to struggle alone."  
Someone cleared his throat. "Err, Josiah...." Nathan said carefully, "care to tell how you know so much about it?"  
Sanchez looked at his colleague and friend, smiling sadly. "Would you believe me if I told you that I read up on it?"  
"Not really," Chris rumbled, hazel eyes narrowed.  
Ezra tilted his head, studying him. "Please don't tell me...."  
Josiah held the incredulous gaze, then nodded slowly.  
"For how long?" Chris asked, voice level.  
"About eighty years."  
Silence reined. Grissom stared at him in surprise and shock, just like everyone else.  
"And you were planning on telling us when?" Larabee demanded.  
"After Adrian Connor... not really any time soon," the profiler confessed.  
"Shit, Josiah!" Nathan exclaimed. "We wouldn't throw you in the same box as that psychopath! We're your friends!"  
"I know that, but there wasn't really any opportunity." Sanchez shrugged. "Until now."  
Chris looked at him, eyes hard, but he didn't comment.  
"How do you live with it?" Grissom asked, voice level.  
"Very well, actually. As I said, you don't have any powers, no special diets. You have a much longer life span than any human, even vampires if you're careful, but never get careless, Dr. Grissom. So far, I only had to disappear once, and I managed with some help and paperwork." Josiah shot him a grin. "But you have friends here, and Ezra informed the Shaman in Las Vegas. You'll have support."  
Nick's thumb rubbed ceaselessly over his lover's hand.  
"What is different about you is that after your regeneration, your body has been reset to a prior 'setting," Josiah went on. "You might not be aware of it now, but you have grown younger."  
Grissom swallowed. "Younger?"  
Nick looked him over, one hand gently turning the handsome face to look at him. "Kinda," he said after a moment of study. "Less gray in the hair... and you... yeah, you look leaner. Not that you were fat!" he added immediately, catching the expression in his lover's face.  
"Thank you," was the dry reply. "I have to confess, I feel slightly different, too."  
Josiah nodded. "Only to be expected. Give yourself time, get used to it. You haven't changed, Dr. Grissom. Your body simply set back the clock."  
"And you think that I haven't changed?" Grissom asked quietly.

* * *

The crime lab of Salt Lake wasn't any different than back home, Grissom mused. Same technology, same instruments, just a different setting. The Clarion Tower was an old building and the rooms had slightly higher ceilings. There was a lot of brick showing in places, except in the labs where easy to clean surfaces were needed. Nathan's office was, like their own coroner's, next to the morgue. The office was adjacent to a lab, which could only be accessed by either the examination room outside in the morgue or the office.  
Jackson pulled up some files on his computer, then switched them over to the one on the lab.  
"Okay. I know you're familiar with the procedures," the doctor said, handing the two vials of blood over to him. "The lab is fully equipped and whatever else you need, just let me know, okay?"  
"Understood," Grissom nodded.  
And he set to work.  
Grissom loved to learn. There was no greater experience for him than to discover something new, follow up on it, understand it, so suddenly knowing about the paranormal had thrown him severely. He needed proof, a proof he found himself, examined himself, to solve the puzzle. It was a passion he would never trade for anything else.  
Two hours later, Grissom sat back, stumped. He turned to the files Jackson had granted him access to and read over the notes concerning vampire blood. Jackson had experience that dated years back and he had kept minute track of everything, every little piece of knowledge, every change, every oddity. The vampire files, Grissom thought with an attempt at humor.  
"Nate?"  
The voice calling from outside drew him out of his thoughts and he discovered a young, slender but muscular man walking into the office and greeting Jackson. He was dressed in jeans, a tight fitting black shirt and a leather jacket. An easy smile played over his lips.  
"Grissom? This is Vin Tanner. You two haven't met yet," Nathan introduced them. "He's working for the graveyard shift as well."  
"Hey." Tanner shook his hand. "Nice to meet you."  
"Mr. Tanner."  
"It's Vin."  
Grissom nodded, accpeting the more familiar address.  
"I asked Vin to come here to show you another side to the paranormal than vampires or a Phoenix. With Ezra and Chris, it's literally in the blood. So the only two paranormal species that show more physical details are witches and werewolves. JD's busy on a case, so Vin volunteered to stand in."  
Grissom looked at the younger man slouching against a table. Tanner shrugged non-chalantly.  
"As long it doesn't involve poking and blood-drawing, I'm game. And you could have asked Buck, y'know."  
"Busy."  
"Figures. Oh well." He turned to Grissom. "Before something happens here, this is the brief version of what happened: JD and I were driving home when he hit a dog. The animal was scared, it bit me, then died. A few weeks later, I got cramps, nausea and finally ended up all furry and four-legged. It's been a few years now, I've control of the process and except for the night of the full moon, I don't have to shift into wolf shape."  
"You're a werewolf," Grissom said tonelessly.  
"Yep." Tanner started to undress. "I know it sounds weird and freaky, and believe me, I was freaked for a long time. Buck, too. This was something really, really major in our lives and if it hadn't been for someone else who taught me, I'd probably have lost it soon after that."  
By now he was naked and before Grissom could say something, the whole form started to shift and change. It didn't take very long and except for the momentary creaking of bones, there was hardly any sound, but the end result had Grissom sitting down.  
A huge Timber wolf was looking at him, intelligent eyes taking in his shell-shocked countenance.  
"Gil?" Nathan approached him, looking worried.  
Stay curious. It was something Gil had always preached to his colleagues, his team. Now… this was so far beyond anything he had ever seen or heard.  
Canis Lupus, the scientist in him started to process. Gray wolf, Timber wolf or Tundra wolf. Canidae family. Mammal. The largest wild canid. Fur is thick and usually grey, but can vary from nearly pure white, red, or brown to black. Head-and-body length: 100- 150 cm. Tail length: 31-51 cm. Shoulder height: 66-81 cm. Weight: 16-60 kg, males heavier than females.  
This wolf outweighed and outsized them all. It was huge. A lot larger than any wolf Grissom had ever seen.  
"Grissom?" Nathan repeated.  
"I'm fine," he murmured.  
The wolf sat down on his haunches, a soft snort escaping his snout. It sounded almost disbelieving. The yellow eyes looked calm, not the least bit feral.  
"I think we should get you home," Nathan added.  
"No. No, I'm okay. This is… fantastic."  
Another wuffling sound and the wolf tilted his head.  
"You understand everything, right? You are still Vin Tanner."  
A whine and a nod.  
"How…?" Grissom looked at the team's coroner. "How is it possible?"  
Nathan smiled. "I think I've got the right reading material for you. And Vin, you better change back. Don't want anyone stumbling over you down here. You'd give them a heart attack."  
The wolf grumbled briefly. As Grissom followed Nathan, Tanner changed back and redressed, not much later joining them for Gil to ask whatever questions he had.

*

The sun was high up in the sky and while it was warm, it wasn't oppressingly hot. Standing outside the Clarion Tower, shades hiding his eyes, hands in his pockets, Gil Grissom did what he had done all his life: observe. People passed him by. Some with shopping bags, others with cameras, clearly tourists, and yet others were in business suits, sometimes talking on their cell phones. It was normal day of the week. Actually, he should be back at the conference center, listening to one of the lecturers, reviewing reports and papers, looking into new crime investigation methods.  
But he was here instead, outside the Salt Lake crime lab, just standing there. Watching.  
How many of these people were warlocks, witches or vampires? Scratch vampires. Sunlight. No vampires. But maybe another Phoenix? A werewolf?  
Grissom felt his head ache and it was something that hadn't happened for a while now. He suffered migraines maybe once a year, but this was far from a migraine. He knew them, he didn't know this.  
And it was the base of his problems. He didn't know how to deal with what had been revealed to him. There was no prior case, nothing he could refer to. He had been thrown into the water and expected to swim, but he didn't know how to.  
Immortal.  
He was immortal.  
Unable to die.  
Grissom's mind came to a screeching halt and the scientist inside him screamed his protests.  
Impossible. What Standish had told him was scientifically impossible. No one could simply live forever! But there was so much proof now, clear cut evidence. He had read the files, he had seen Tanner change… he had seen the glowing eyes of Larabee and Standish.  
Everything was there.  
Everything.  
He had to change his view of the world, adjust his picture to the new information. From one second to another, everything he had known had become invalid. New variables had been added to the equation that was life and now nothing added up anymore.  
Freefall.  
He was off center and reeling, and there was nothing to keep him from spiraling even further.  
Grissom took a deep breath and part of his mind processed again. The quiet clearing of throat behind him startled the CSI, and he whirled around to look at Josiah Sanchez. The tall man just stood beside him, watching their surroundings as quietly as he himself.  
“Changes your perspective.” He said calmly after a while.  
Grissom inhaled. “Yes. It does.”  
“You shouldn’t start questioning everything you believe you know, Dr. Grissom. I've been where you are now."  
Grissom watched a young mother with her child, walking past, talking to the girl. She was laughing, smiling, having fun. A couple was not far behind, he snapping a picture of the Clarion Tower, she looking at a map.  
Normalcy.  
But were those people normal or were they paranormal? How could you tell?  
"The world has changed," Grissom finally said.  
"It changes every day."  
"Subtly, yes. Not like this. How many others are out there, around me? How can I look at someone and not try to determine what he is?"  
Sanchez smiled briefly. "There are more than you know, but less than you think, Dr. Grissom. Phoenix’s are rare. We’ve only met one, and that was a psychotic serial killer who had a personal business with Chris and tried to kill his son. Hadn’t Chris been a vampire back then he would have succeeded. Yes, it indeed changes your perspective – but it opens up a billion new opportunities. Think about it that way.”  
Grissom was silent for a moment, thinking about what Sanchez had just said.  
"None of us wanted what they are," the other man added. "Some of us were alone when they discovered what they had become."  
Josiah's face was serious, a dark shadow hovering over it.  
"Ezra has been what he is for a very long time now. Over a century. He had to deal with it alone, unable to confess to someone, trust someone, until he met Chris. A century of loneliness, Dr. Grissom. Buck and Vin were lucky. Vin was bitten after we met Ezra, so we knew about the others, though not about werewolves. JD's powers surfaced and again, there was support."  
“How was it? For you, I mean.”  
He watched the other man sigh, watched the way his body seemed to slump a little. Had he told his story often before? No, it was something else. Larabee and the others had been genuinely surprised to find out about the second Phoenix.  
“Let’s go back inside, have a coffee," Josiah said instead of an answer ar. It’s a long story."

They sat in an empty conference room, each a coffee in front of him. Josiah sipped at his and began his tale.  
“I was born as Jesús Sanchez in a rather small town in Northern Spain in 1918. My parents were open minded people who were glad to have just survived the first world war, when the world was heading toward the second. My father managed to get me to the University nonetheless, I have no idea how. I don’t want to bore you with war stories, just that much: I survived it. I even met a girl, got married. Aná was a woman with a sharp mind and a sharp tongue, and becoming a mother didn’t change her a bit. The war ended, and we were glad to have survived once again. Then…“ Sanchez stopped for a brief moment. “I was used to saying what I thought, had always done that, as had Aná. Turned out to be a bad idea. We got problems.”  
Grissom watched as emotions flickered over the man’s face. “General Franco?” he asked calmly, and Sanchez nodded.  
“Spain was a dictatorship back then, and Franco’s men didn’t take it too friendly if one said openly what was on his mind. Few did and survived it.”  
“You didn’t either?”  
“No. As did my family. Jesús, Anà and Manuél Sanchez died 1958 in a ‘tragic’ accident. Josiah Sanchez came back from the dead. You can imagine my surprise when I woke up… surrounded by death. My family was gone, my friends thought I had disappeared… and my body had healed all those wounds, regenerating itself. I fled, confused and terrified."  
Grissom looked at him, pale but composed.  "How did you deal?"  
"I didn't," Josiah said bluntly. "I came to America to start a new life. As a refugee from Franco’s cruelty I didn't have too many problems over here, but I lost it for a while. Drank heavily, did drugs – just about everything to forget. But I couldn't. It took me a long time to accept what I was. I actually tried to kill myself twice, but I always came back."  
Grissom nodded slowly. "Sentenced to live."  
"I had no one, Dr. Grissom. No one. The human mind cannot deal with this alone. I finally came around. It took more time, but I had it all. All the time in the world. I won't bore you with details, but I found someone in a woman called Hannah, who became something of a sister to me. She helped me immensely, she got me interested in psychology, and I went to the university. I died two more times after that, due to my own carelessness, the last time was about ten years ago. Managed to get some doctorates, went into law enforcement, met Orrin Travis joined the CSI, met Chris, later on Ezra. Things got weird. End of story.”  
"People around us… they grow older… die…"  
"Yes. But some won't. You have friends here, Dr. Grissom, as well as in Vegas. We are your support if you accept it. And you have Nick. Accept him. You'll need him. Don't push the person you love away. You're partners."  
"How can Nick deal with this?" Gil asked quietly.  
"That's something only Nick can answer. He's your partner. You need to talk to him, tell him… he can't read your mind, Dr. Grissom. You have to open up and let him in, however painful you might think it is for the two of you." Josiah looked at the other man. "To help you, to understand it all, you have to tell Nick. Only then can he deal. Only then can you deal," he added calmly.

* * *

Grissom returned to the mansion, deep in thought, trying to process the evidence. Josiah had dropped him off. Chris was still at work, trying to find the killer, but Ezra would be home.  
Ignoring the door to Standish and Larabee's apartment, he walked straight to the back of the house. Large trees were growing there, creating a little forest that also shielded the house. He simply stood there for a while, lost in thought, as his mind ordered everything he had come to know today, everything that had been revealed.  
"Gil?"  
Warm arms embraced him from behind, drawing him out of his thoughts. A pair of lips pressed against his neck and he sank back, seeking the human warmth. For years he had been able to ignore it, live just fine without it, but now he needed Nick. More than ever.  
Nick.  
Not immortal.  
Nick would die one day and he'd be alone.  
Grissom felt the tremors start again.  
He couldn't do this! He just couldn't. He couldn't stand by and watch the man he loved, the man he had just found, die while he lived on. In the months they had been together, he had accepted that being fifteen years older, he was most likely the first to die. It was the natural way of life; it was how it was supposed to be. Not like this, not surviving forever.  
"Gil," Nick whispered, his warm breath disturbing the fine neck hair. "It's okay. I'm here."  
Stokes's voice was shaky, too, but he was trying to be strong.  
"It's not," Grissom heard himself say, voice raspy. "I won't die. I'll age, but I won't die. You will."  
He was hugged tightly. "Don't think about it now. Enough time to deal with it later."  
"There is too much I think about right now. All of this... the consequences..."  
Nick turned him around, framing his face with his hands. A gentle kiss was placed onto his lips, silencing the older man. "Gil, I love you. Whatever you are, whatever happens. I can deal with this."  
"What if I can't?"  
Grissom felt something inside of him moan at his own words. It was the truth. Right now, he couldn't deal with this. The normally so calm and collected scientist and supervisor was breaking apart. His mind couldn't deal with the confusing truths.  
Nick simply held him, refusing to let go. "You can do it," he murmured. "We can do it. We can face it it when we're together, Gris. We're so much stronger than it."  
Grissom chuckled slightly. "Right now, I don't feel very strong, Nicky."  
Stokes hugged him tightly. "But you are, Gil. I know it."  
It was a vote of confidence he had never expected.  
"I'm here for you," Nick promised, voice fierce. "Whatever happens, I'll be here. We'll see this through. Together."  
Grissom allowed himself to relax.  
Together.

Nick nuzzled his lover's neck, inhaling his scent, just glad he was alive and in his arms. He firmly believed that Gil was strong enough to see this through, to accept what he was, what had been revealed to them, and he would be there for him every single step of the way.  
"So, what did you do today?"  
The question surprised Stokes and he chuckled. It had sounded so normal, so completely like Grissom.  
"Same old, same old, honey," he drawled.  
Grissom twisted his head to look at his lover, a quizzical expression on his features, warring with a frown at the term of endearment. Nick shot him a dazzling smile. He knew how much Grissom abhorred terms like 'baby' or 'honey', and Nick was no fan of them either. 'Sweetheart' wasn't something he wanted to hear Gil call him.  
"Well, you know how it is," he went on, voice light, teasing. "Talked with a warlock about this and that, cat-sitted, ate some unhealthy stuff… You wouldn't believe what Larabee keeps in that fridge – besides the blood. Wilmington's fridge is even worse. He reminds me of a certain criminalist from Vegas who insists to store his experiments and bugs next to the milk."  
By now Grissom looked totally confused and Nick smiled more.  
"Someone I know?" his lover wanted to know.  
"Nah. But I'll introduce you the next time he's around."  
"I hope so."  
Grissom leaned forward and kissed him, open-mouthed, worrying at his lower lip.  
"So, what did you and the warlock talk about?"  
Always curious.  
And Nick explained about his day with JD Dunne, what the younger man had told him. It had been enlightening, frightening, and it had shed a different light on the group. For one, JD himself hadn't been very accepting of his powers, something he had to train and control day by day. He could erase a city from the face of the earth if he got out of control, and he had killed someone with them. It had been a murderer, but the young man had had to deal with his actions nevertheless. It had taken a while for him to accept what he had become.  
Then there was Vin Tanner, someone who had been left scared and reeling himself. His lover, Buck Wilmington, had lost it when the truth about Tanner had been revealed in the worst possible way: a painful transformation right in front of Wilmington's eyes. Both men had gone through a hellish time, especially when Buck himself had been bitten by Vin and become a werewolf, too.  
Last but not least, there was Chris Larabee, who would have died of leucemia if Ezra hadn't changed him. It had been a close call and Ezra hadn't been overjoyed to turn someone into a vampire. It had been hard on Standish and even worse on Larabee, who had to learn what it meant to be a vampire all of a sudden.  
"We're damn lucky we met them," Nick murmured, still embracing his lover.  
"I have to agree," Grissom said slowly.  
They went inside after a while, withdrawing to the guest room. Grissom was surprised to find their things. Nick just shrugged.  
"Picked them up while I was out. JD helped. I think we can scratch the conference, hm?"  
Gil nodded. "I believe so, too."

* * *

Nathan had picked up Grissom and Nick to visit the Grotto, the best place to get to know vampires without having to search. The club wasn't actually open in the morning, but the team had special admittance. It was their meeting point, a place to unwind, to be themselves, whatever they were, and safe. That was the strong point; safety.  
Luther was currently sitting at one of the many empty tables, doing some calculating, while Harriet was busy stocking the bar together with one of the barmen. Karen wasn't around and as far as Nathan remembered, JD had taken a day off to spend some time with his fiancée.  
Nathan had decided that it would do the two men a load of good to be out of the mansion, get to know some more people, and talk. It was the best therapy.  
"Any special wishes for breakfast?"  
"They do breakfast?" Nick asked dubiously.  
"Yep, for special customers. It's nothing fancy, but really good. Luther over there does a mean omelet."  
Nick smiled. "Then I guess I'll try one."  
The large, dark-skinned vampire walked over to them, taking their orders, giving the two newcomers a friendly smile.  
"He is a vampire?" Grissom asked quietly.  
"Yep. Manages the Grotto. He and Ezra go way back. And he really does great cooking. Worked in a kitchen before he was changed."  
Gil gave Nathan a calculating look. "So what are you?"  
Jackson chuckled. "I'm the minority in this team." At the raised eyebrows he added, "I'm human."  
"So are JD, Vin, Buck and Josiah," Nick told him. "With some extras."  
"No extras here."  
Grissom studied him like a bug under the microscope. "But…?" he prompted.  
Nathan sighed. The man was quite sharp-witted. "But I was involved in a magic accident. JD more or less overloaded, so to speak, pulled time from the people around him, and it backfired at me. The time he stored was mostly vampire time, if you want to put it like this. He collected it at the Grotto before he lost control. A few hours, days at the most, but it was there, from hundreds of patrons, some supernatural, some not. When he released it, I was in the way. It stuck to me."  
Nick shot him an incredulous look. "It stuck?" he echoed.  
"Think of it as additional life time."  
"How much?"  
"We really don't know. We tried to add it up, but we never got the correct number of people and how long they had been displaced out of the normal time stream." Nathan shrugged. "Estimates are thirty years and up."  
"Hot damn," Nick whispered.  
Another shrug. "But I'm still human, gentlemen. No genetic predisposition, no unknown strands, no powers. Like I said, I'm the minority."  
Grissom only smiled slightly.

The spent an enjoyable time at the Grotto, Nathan answering every question either of the two men had. Luther joined them for a while, drawing curious looks at him, smiling patiently.  
Nathan was pleased to notice the growing interest, the way Nick and Grissom were opening up to a world neither had known about just a few days ago. He was positive both men would be able to deal with it all.

* * *

"We managed to get a more or less good print from the blood,” Chris told the two Vegas criminalists. “Buck's currently running the profile against the data base to find out what kind of shoe. From your description, Nathan thinks the weapon was a hunting knife, serrated, long. Unusual. You were robbed, so it might have been because of the money you carried. I doubt it was a hit, Grissom. I don't think you were targeted as a victim."  
"Wrong place, wrong time," Grissom just said, agreeing.  
"Exactly. Vin and Josiah combed every inch of that alley and the dumpster. We have hair, a piece of clothing, but without another sample to compare them to, we don't know if they belong to the killer or someone else."  
Grissom nodded.  
"What about a profile?" Nick asked.  
"Running the stuff we have to find similar cases, but nothing."  
“Let’s recap what we have so far.”  
Chris produced an evidence bag, pulling out a torn shirt and a pair of pants, both caked in dried blood. Nick had to swallow at the sight of his lover’s clothes, a clear reminder of the way he had looked when they had found him.  
“Entrance of the blade was here. No clear cut, but it’s hard to say after the shirt was torn. Here are the photos we took of the crime scene. Let’s reconstruct the night. Ezra, where did you find Grissom?”  
Standish was examining the pictures, then pointed.  
“Here. You see the puddle of blood. I followed the scent and the blood trails to the dumpster. I didn’t need to touch, I could sense he was dead. I was about to call you, Chris, when something caught my attention. I have to admit it was me who tore the shirt apart. Sorry.”  
“What did you see?”  
“The closing of the wound.”  
“Where was it located?”  
Ezra pointed to his own stomach. “Here. It was about this size, and it was deep, though it had begun to close. From the moment I found Grissom to the time he woke up it needed, I’d say, another fifteen minutes.”  
“Hm. The alley is about fifteen minutes away from the Coda, it was twelve thirty when we left. Nick called me at one fifty-five. We found you at two thirty-five. I’d say the approximate time of death was between twelve forty-five and one a.m. Now to what happened at that time. What do you remember?”  
Nick had watched silently as the CSIs professionally processed the murder of his lover, watched as Grissom visibly shoved his emotions aside and became the detached investigator again. Hell, they were talking about his lover here, for crying out loud!  
“I remember walking toward the conference center," Grissom said calmly, voice collected. "When I passed that alley, something caught my attention – something I thought I saw. I went into the alley and … there was something, but… I can't remember what. I don't know why I walked in there… no idea. I was… curious. Then I heard a sound, turned around, saw the knife and – felt it.”  
“Did you see your attacker?”  
Grissom shook his head. “Not really. From the force the blade entered my body I’d say it was a man, about my size and built. The blade entered my body here,” he put a hand onto his stomach, “damaged several internal organs and I think it cracked at least one rib. He didn’t swing the knife, it came upward. He held it in his left hand.”  
Grissom frowned as if he was left with one of his riddles he liked so much and Nick clenched his jaw. He saw the necessity in the entire procedure, but it was painful nonetheless. He could have screamed with frustration and anger. But he kept silent, just being at Grissom’s side would have to be enough right now. Gil put on his glasses and examined the photographs more closely.  
“He killed me here, and left me there to die. I remember hitting the ground, so he didn’t rob me immediately. He dragged me to the dumpster and then robbed me. That doesn’t make sense.”  
“No,” Nick muttered. “If he had just wanted to rob you he could have had that easier, just by stepping out onto the street. Gil, if you hadn’t entered that alley … “  
“…I wouldn’t have ended up dead.” Grissom said thoughtfully.  
“So, Dr. Grissom, what did you see that you shouldn’t have seen?”  Ezra asked.  
Grissom tilted his head, looking very thoughtful now.  
“I don’t know,” he said calmly.  
The sound of a door bell interrupted and Chris got up, walking out into the entrance hall. Voices could be heard. When Chris returned, he had a young, dark-skinned man in tow. He was dressed in an eccentric, colorful shirt, black pants and sneakers. He carried a backpack.  
"Hi," he greeted the men. "I'm Brian. Brian Sayed Menami. Uhm, Nandi called me. She said to come by because..." Brian's eyes fell on Grissom and Nick. "Holy cow!"  
Ezra smiled humorlessly. "Brian, this is Dr. Gil Grissom. A Phoenix."  
"I know. Nandi mentioned it, but...." Brian stared. "Geeezus!" The Shaman gaped. "Could you guys - please  - tell me how you DO that?!"  
"Do what?" Chris asked perplexed.  
"I mean - when did someone shove a magic magnet up your asses? I can understand you managed to gather several vampires, 'cause of the community and all. Then some werewolves, which is rare, but oh well... nothing too bad. And - oddly enough - two warlocks. Now you even got two Phoenix's - but how in Nostradamus's name did you manage to find a *Mimic*?!"  
"Uhm...?"  
"Excuse me...?" Nick cleared his throat.  
"Come again?" Ezra asked with quiet authority.  
"Excuse me...?"  
"Mwrrrrrr!"  
"What *the hell* is a *mimic*?!" Nick finally demanded hotly.  
"The rarest and most dangerous paranormal there is."  
That statement was met with a second of stunned silence.  
"More dangerous than a warlock?" Chris finally asked, a picture of a smoldered trace on a wall that had been a human just mere seconds before only too clear in front of his inner eye. If there was any danger to one of his …  
The Shaman nodded. "Yes, because he can mirror the warlock's powers. Or any other paranormal's that is, as long as he is connected to him or her, even a Shaman's if he's trained well enough. Seems you've got yourself a Phoenix-Mimic here..."  
Everyone looked at Nick.  
“What?” he demanded, confused and annoyed.  
Brian just sighed deeply and shook his head.

*

Vin, Buck, JD and Josiah were at work to at least give a semblance of order at the CSI. Travis didn't have to hear about this right away. At least not about Grissom and Nick. Josiah was another matter. Still, right now, that had to wait.  
Nathan was still there, fascinated by the revelation of who the two men from Salt Lake had turned out to be, as well as by the Shaman in their midst.  
Brian sat on the couch, looking at the two vampires, the Phoenix and the Mimic.  
"You see, we've been monitoring the magical surface for a while now. Actually, ever since Salt Lake developed into a meeting point of paranormals. Every larger city has a vampire community, but no one has ever heard of so many different species working together. Well, anyway, we've been aware of Mr. Stokes since he hit puberty. The Shaman in Dallas caught on to your genetic predisposition."  
"My what?"  
"Well, Mr. Stokes, your abilities as a Mimic are genetic. You come from the Sidhe. In legends they are also called fairies or elves."  
Nick's expression of disbelief doubled.  
"Anyway, we know very little about them, just that their genes mixed with those of the early humans, and their descendents sometimes show a sporadic talent. Not all are Mimics. Actually, you're the first we discovered in a very long time."  
"Since when?" Ezra wanted to know.  
"Uh, early 14th century, I think."  
"You knew about Nick?" Grissom came back to the earlier information, ignoring the history lesson.  
"Yeah. We watched him. Mimics have no active powers. As I said, they mirror those of another paranormal, those whose talents are because of genetics, too. Warlocks, witches, the Phoenix.... Vampires and werewolves are made by others, so Mr. Stokes won't have to go through lunar changes."  
"I never knew..."  
"You weren't supposed to know."  
Nick glared at him. "Great! Just throw it at me now!"  
Brian held up his hands, trying to calm the enraged CSI. "Nothing like this should have happened. We weren't aware of Dr. Grissom's state until it was too late. Then the two of you got together. No harm in it; actually, it was rather healthy for both of you. When Mr. Larabee and Mr. Standish came to Vegas, every Shaman held his breath, afraid of what might happen. We were rather relieved when nothing occurred."  
Chris scowled. "What is it with you people? We aren't dangerous!"  
"You are, Mr. Larabee. As single persons, no. But all of you together represent a strong force, someone to be reckoned with. Mr. Tanner's aim to create this Nexus is laudable but highly dangerous."  
Chris snorted, but Ezra silenced any protest with a gentle touch.  
"So, Nick is a Mimic. What does it mean for him?"  
"Well, he comes from a line of people who no longer exist. There are no pure-blooded Sidhe left, so there aren't any actually eye-witness reporters." Brian looked regretful. "What we do know is that they developed alongside the Neanderthal and the Cro Magnon. The Neanderthal died and the Cro Magnon evolved, while the Sidhe stayed at the sidelines. Man soon became the dominant species and was stronger than them. What really made them decide to mix their gene pool with ours is as much speculation as interpretation of myths. We think the Sidhe realized that they would die out if they didn't mix their genetic material, so they actively sought out human partners. When the last Sidhe died, their culture died with them, but their DNA survived, so to speak. Very few descendants have been seen since, at least those of such clear cut powers like Mr. Stokes."  
"I thought I had none," Nick interjected.  
"Active powers, no, you have none. You mimic others. Currently, because of your bond to your partner, you’re a Phoenix. Not just by name, but also genetically."  
Brian looked at the confused expression and sighed.  
Nathan frowned. "How can someone mimic a genetic code?" the doctor asked.  
"Actually, humans can't, Dr. Jackson. Sidhe could. We know only of two Mimics in all our history, and they were closely studied." Nick winced and Brian held up a hand. "Not in a lab, Mr. Stokes. We never experiment with people, we observe."  
Grissom frowned, tightening his possessive hold on his lover. "So the Mimic isn't human."  
"He is. Their ancestral history simply includes Sidhe, but they are as human as you and I. Sidhe genes are dormant until the right lines cross, so to speak. Then the really strong ones come out. We know of so-called Triggers, Sidhe descendants who have no powers except to trigger a magically inclined person. Some have Charm, something we would call a silver tongue. We've seen Charm in some diplomats and politicians around the world, but none ever had been strong enough to do any harm with their talent. With Mr. Stokes, two lines crossed and created a strong talent."  
"So his siblings might be Mimics, too?" Nathan wanted to know.  
Brian shook his head. "Highly unlikely. While it is true that the children get a fifty-fifty ratio of genetic material from the parents, each child is different. Otherwise, parents would have little carbon copies."  
"Great," Nick sighed. "So I'm the freak."  
Grissom pulled him closer, shaking his head. "No more than I am, Nicky," he murmured.  
"None of you is," Ezra argued firmly. "We are different, all of us, but none of us are freaks."  
"This can't be true," Nick whispered, stroking over his lover's arms and back, unconsciously giving and seeking comfort again. "This is too fantastic."  
Nick frowned as a sudden thought occurred to him.  
“I can understand that a Phoenix who died before will be younger, but me? If I – mimic – a Phoenix what does that mean for me? What if I die?”  
Brian pursed his lips. “Nick, you have to understand one thing: we shamans don’t know much about anything when it comes to a Mimic. We can only guess, and my guess is that when you die you will come back just like a Phoenix. It's what Mimics do: copy the paranormal they latched onto to a 't'. You'll be younger -- most likely, probably looking like you did when the Phoenix was triggered."  
"Uh… and that was…?"  
"When you met Grissom the very first time. He was a Phoenix already then.”  
“That was five years ago… oh my god, that would mean… “  
Brian smiled. “Most likely you’d look like you had five years ago.”  
“Sheesh, I was twenty-six!" Nick exclaimed, horrified. "I don’t want to look like twenty-six again!”  
“Well, then – don’t die.”  
Nick swallowed. "Not planning to…"  
Grissom's hand curled around his and he squeezed it.  
"You'll need time. Get used to the concept," Brian suggested. "When you get back to Vegas, there will be people there to help, to answer questions. Some of them you already know."  
Grissom looked quizzically at him. "For instance?"  
"Greg Sanders."  
"What?" Nick blurted. "And what is he? A witch?"  
Brian smiled. "No. Greg has no powers, active or passive. He's an ally, someone who helps us out, who takes care of things."  
The quizzical look on Grissom's face turned into a frown. "Helps you out how…"  
"Well, Dr. Grissom, some things can never be known about us. I've been told that you were given blood samples of Mr. Standish and Mr. Larabee. You saw their different DNA. Greg has helped us out covering up vampire activity in your city."  
"He tampered with evidence." Now Gil's voice was dangerous. Harder. The CSI supervisor was in charge.  
"Yes and no. All he did was remove the unknown component from the reports. Believe me when I tell you, nothing he has ever done compromised your investigations. The guilty party was always convicted, be it human or paranormal."  
Grissom's expression was uncompromising. Tampering with evidence was one of the worst crimes a criminalist or lab tech could committ. For a moment, he forgot all about paranormals and his own, altered state.  
"Greg is an ally, Grissom," Larabee said, voice calm but firm. "He isn't some rookie idiot, fouling up important samples. What he does is cover our existence. He would even cover up your death if you needed to be back without someone knowing what occurred. He has worked for us since he went to college and he has more knowledge about this world than some who belong to it because of their genes. If you're thinking about chewing him out over it, remind yourself of this fact. He is your ally now, too. He will do everything in his powers to help."  
Grissom inhaled deeply and met the hazel eyes, which were just as hard and uncompromising as his own.  
"I don't have to like it."  
"No, no one expects you to. But making Greg's life harder will not yield the results you might wish for. He is on your side; our side."  
Grissom nodded slowly. He would talk to the young lab tech; he had to. If Greg was to be his ally, he had to know more about him. About it all.  
Nick squeezed his hand. "He's a good guy, Gil. Trust him."  
"I'll give him the benefit of a doubt," Grissom conceded. "Everything else has to develop."

* * *

The conference was over and somehow, Grissom didn't care. He had enough to think about without the distraction of so many new things, but he made sure he got all the memos, reports and journals he needed. He spent some time reading through what Larabee had brought back from his own seminars, thankful for the man's thoughtfulness.  
For moments, normalcy would come back and he would discuss certain topics with his Salt Lake colleague, but then reality slammed back in. He fought his way through it all, refusing to surrender to the panic and terror, the uncertainty and feeling of being lost in the middle of nowhere. He knew he had people who cared around him, but the habit of a lifetime was hard to kick.  
Sitting with Nick in the living room of Larabee and Standish's part of the house, Gil was roused out of his reading by the phone. Nick was half asleep, his head on Grissom's lap, who had his feet kicked up on a foot stool. He blinked sleepily as Chris picked up.  
"Oh, hello, sir. The chocolate? Yes, that's from us….. Why?… Well, there have been developments…. Yes…yes… no…. It's about Dr. Grissom…." There was a moment of silence. "Well, he died, sir."  
More silence. Chris's eyebrows rose.  
"No, sir. Not officially. No…. No… No, we didn't report it. Well, you see… he's back…. No, no vampire… no wolf, either. No, not some other were-form… I doubt there are others, actually…. Not a witch. As far as we know, magic users can't come back from the dead…. No. Well… yes… he's a Phoenix…."  
Silence.  
Chris grimaced and held the receiver away from his ear. Even Grissom could hear the yelling.  
"Sir… sir… yes… I know… Oh, and he's not the only one…. Someone from my team revealed…" Chris coughed. "Not Nathan. It's Josiah."  
This time, Chris immediately pulled the receiver from his ear. He cast a look at Ezra, then tossed it at his lover. Standish shot him a glare, then sighed deeply.  
"Hi Orrin. Yes… I know.. No, I wasn't… Yes, I was around… Hell, I didn't kill him!… A Phoenix… Yes, Josiah, too… It's not contagious…" And then he held the receiver away as well. "Will you calm down, please?" he finally called. "You're no Phoenix, Orrin. This isn't doing you any good. And yes, chocolate is bad, too, but it calms the nerves. It's better than brandy…. Yes… Yes, I'll tell him. Bye, Orrin."  
"You sent him chocolate?" Nick asked as he sat up, stunned by the part of the exchange he could hear.  
Chris shrugged. "Sending him alcohol wasn't such a good idea any longer. At least for his liver."  
"And the brandy was getting expensive," Ezra mumbled.  
"That was the DA?" Grissom wanted to know.  
"Yeah."  
"He knows about you all?"  
"It's hard to keep it a secret from the man in charge of The Branch. And he's known Ez since he was a rookie. Actually, Orrin introduced us."  
Grissom looked Ezra, who simply smiled. "I see."  
"He wants to talk to you tonight, Chris," Ezra simply said as he replaced the phone. "I think he's about to consider retirement," came the teasing addition.  
"Uh-huh."

* * *

Nick was on the couch, his back resting against the mountain of pillows, comfortable and relaxed. Settled between his legs, back against Nick's chest, was Gil. Stokes had his hands folded on his lover's belly, cheek resting on the curly hair. It was ten in the evening and neither one of them felt really tired. Ezra and Chris were gone, Larabee to work and to talk to Travis, Standish to wherever. The house was deserted, except for the cats, who kept the two men company. Shawn was curled up at Grissom's feet, Cassie next to Nick, squeezing into the narrow space between his hips and the couch's back. Sequoia sat like a statue on the back of the couch while Peekaboo had taken up residence on the TV. Both men had decided to watch some of the local news, but neither was really getting much of what was on.  
Nick stroked his fingers over his lover's body, nuzzling one ear. "Gil?" he murmured.  
"Still here."  
"Hope so."  
Nick nipped at the closest ear and Grissom tilted his head, giving him more access. Nick used it to deliver gentle, biting kisses to the exposed neck.  
"You okay?" he whispered.  
"I'm not sure. You?"  
Nick sighed, a soft gust of breath against the other man's skin. "It's a lot to take in, to work with."  
"I know."  
"Well," Nick murmured, voice filled with dark humor, "at least it solved your age problem."  
Grissom closed his eyes, sinking more against him and Nick tightened his hold. "It did, didn't it?" He chuckled softly. "And it created a whole set of new ones."  
"Yeah. But we'll fight them together."  
Gil clasped one caressing hand. "Thank you."  
"You think I'd leave you, Gil? All part of the bargain. We're bound together, love."  
Grissom turned in his embrace, one hand sneaking up to pull his lover down into a deep, gentle kiss. Cassie moved, an indignant expression in her green eyes as the two humans took up more space.  
"And I hope just 'cause you're a Phoenix doesn't mean you start waltzing into dangerous situations again," Nick added, voice almost shaky. "'Cause I can't stomach that. Despite your powers. I don't wanna see you die or get hurt."  
Grissom snuggled into the loving embrace. "I won't, Nicky. I stand by my promise."  
"We'll have to go home tomorrow," Stokes said after a while.  
"I know.”  
“Everything has changed."  
“I know.”  
"And we can't tell anyone. No one would believe us anyway."  
Gil chuckled. "I don't believe it myself. It's.... surreal." He grew serious again. "It's not logical anymore."  
"Well, Dr. Jackson said you can take his research with you."  
"I intend to."  
They sat together for a long time, surrounded by four bundles of fur guarding them.  
"Gil?" Nick whispered into the silence, his lips next to Grissom's ear.  
"Hm?"  
"I'd like to go upstairs."  
The meaning was clear and Grissom didn't hesitate.  
Four cats watched the men retreat for the night, green, intelligent eyes following them. Sequoia hopped down from her guard post and curled up on the warm spot the humans had vacated, soon joined by Peekaboo, who was licking her sister's head enthusiastically.  
Soon, only very good ears could hear the whispers of passion coming from the upper floors.

*

Nick touched Grissom lovingly, gently, hands mapping the body he by now knew so well. He teased the nipples into hardness, his tongue caressing and suckling, drawing breathy moans. His hands stroked over the warm skin, savoring the contact, unable to get enough. He needed Grissom. He wanted Grissom. He had to reassure himself that the man was there, alive and warm. Drawing his hand along the sensitive inner thigh, Nick coaxed Gil into raising the leg, giving him more access.  
"Love you," he whispered before he slid up, kissing the man deeply.  
Their tongues entwined, touching and caressing, dancing against each other. Nick heard the needy moan and smiled, suckling at the lower lip.  
"Nicky..." Gil begged.  
"Yes?"  
"Please?"  
Another kiss, deep, loving, soothing and arousing in one.  
Preparation was slow, teasing, making Grissom whimper in need, almost pleading with Nick, and when he was finally sheathed inside his lover, Nick closed his eyes, savoring the tightness around him. Climax came with a shuddering release, accompanied by groans and cries of pleasure. Stokes rested against the older man, breathing hard, feeling sated, pleased, warm.... and alive.  
Grissom was alive.

* * *

Gil Grissom stared into the mirror. His reflection stared back. He had been told he looked younger, no, that he WAS younger, but he hadn’t exactly believed it. Still didn’t believe it, even though his reflection told him otherwise. He looked like he had when he was forty-two, when he had died on that operation table.  
Grissom inspected his hair – less gray, like Nick had said – and his face looked smoother, less tiny wrinkles around the eyes. This body hadn't gone through the daily stress of being thrown into the middle of CSI politics after Brass had been removed. This body didn't have to suffer from the lack of sleep, the constant overtime, the suppressed anger at Ecklie when something had been kept from him.  
And around the middle, yes, he had been leaner then. He felt fitter, too. While taking in his entire figure, Grissom noticed a slight burn in his eyes, and taking off the glasses, he rubbed them with his fingers. Staring at the glasses in his hand it occurred to him. His eyes hadn’t been as bad seven years ago, so he would need new ones. Or old ones, to be precise.  
There was also his hearing… Seven years ago, things hadn't been as bad as they had been lately. Actually, he had been feeling fine. No signs of otosclerosis. He would go through that again. And again. And again. Not something he was looking forward to.  
The scar from his appendectomy was still there. It wouldn't go. Josiah had answered those questions in a quiet moment. Whatever was surgically removed, taken out or added, it would stay after the rebirth.  
Which meant if he finally decided to go through with the ear surgery… he would forever be rid of the hearing problems. Or he would forever be deaf, a nasty part of his mind added.  
Grissom shivered and avoided the blue eyes from the mirror. It was a hard decision, one he had refused to make so many times before, one he still refused to make.  
One day he had to.  
But not today.  
"Mind if I join in?" a soft voice startled him.  
Grissom looked up and into the mirror, seeing Nick reflected in it. There was a warm smile on the handsome features.  
"Join in?" Gil echoed.  
"Admiring you."  
"I'm not admiring myself."  
Nick walked closer, touching his bare shoulder. Grissom was only wearing his jogging pants. Strong fingers ran over the warm skin.  
"Well, you should," was the husky reply. "I do."  
Grissom turned around, not wanting to see his reflection any longer. It would take a while to get used to this. Nick reached out and cupped his cheek, thumb rubbing over it.  
"Gil?"  
"Need to get used to this," Grissom murmured, wrapping his arms around his lover. "A lot has changed. Not just on the outside, Nicky."  
"I know," Nick answered seriously, never ceasing his caress. "And if you wanna talk… I'll listen."  
"I know you will. Thank you."  
Nick smiled gently. "We have to get packing," he said.  
Grissom nodded. They would be leaving this morning.  
"I wish we didn't have to," Nick added.  
Gil pulled him close and brushed the warm lips with his. Nick kissed him back, lightly, not wanting to arouse, just answering the intimate contact.  
"We'll get through this. Together."  
Grissom tightened his hold briefly, needing the closeness, and Nick's warm breath tickled over his exposed skin.  
"I love you, Nick."

* * *

They were finally back home. Familiar streets, familiar surroundings, familiar faces. One of those faces was currently looking back and forth between the two men, Greg Sanders drawn between nervousness and the assurance that this wouldn't get him fired.  
"You never mentioned your involvement with them," Grissom remarked calmly.  
"And what would you have wanted me to say?" Greg asked. "Hey, boss, sorry, but that's a vampire on your table. Don't sweat it, I've got it under control?"  
Gil tilted his head fractionally, studying the younger man. "I understand that as in your role as an ally, you couldn't reveal yourself to anyone."  
"You got that right."  
"How much evidence did you alter?"  
Greg frowned. "I never altered anything. I left out the tell-tale components in the DNA that would have gotten you interested."  
"Something that might have compromised the case."  
Greg squared his shoulders, suddenly looking a lot older and mature than he usually did. "What I do is keep the community safe. Nothing I ever did compromised you. I know where my loyalties lie."  
Grissom met the determined gaze levelly. "And where do they lie, Greg?"  
"With the victims."  
Nick smiled briefly, apparently pleased with the answer, Grissom was harder to read, but finally he nodded.  
"In the future, I want to know if one of our cases involves anything paranormal."  
"Sure, no sweat."  
Greg shot the two men a calculating look, but when he discovered the tight expression around Grissom's eyes, he didn't ask what was burning at the tip of his tongue. They had been through a lot and it was probably not the best of times to ask questions. Time for that later.  
Much later, he added silently.

* * *

Grissom stood in the middle of his living room, taking in the white walls, the silver and black kitchen, the mounted butterflies. It had been his home ever since he had come to Vegas. It had never changed until Nick had come into his life, his private life. Now, the sterile townhouse had been given some warmth. Little things, actually. Plants. A blanket Nick had once brought along. Some books. Then there were clothes in the laundry room, the hamper, in the bedroom.  
He smiled slightly, but the strange feeling didn't change. It was as if he had stepped into the wrong townhouse, as if this wasn't his home any more. He felt alien, like an intruder, and not even the soothing mood music helped.  
Inhaling deeply, he walked over to the fridge and took out a bottle of water. He swallowed several gulps, leaning against the counter. He pressed the cool bottle against his forehead, eyes closed, trying to center himself.  
Minutes passed and the feeling didn't change. He needed to be somewhere else, somewhere different. Somewhere Nick was, too.  
Thirty minutes later he was in front of his lover's house, the knot of anxiety only slowly dissolving. When Nick opened the door, Gil just looked pleadingly at him. Nick reached out, touched his left cheek, and Grissom melted against him, seeking the warmth he needed so badly.  
"Gil," Nick whispered against his skin.  
"Can I stay the night?" Grissom asked.  
The younger man hugged him closer. "You can stay as long as you want, love. You know it."  
"Thank you."  
Grissom hated to be so needy, so vulnerable, but being back home had shook him up more than he wanted to confess. In Salt Lake, surrounded by people who knew and where he didn't have to hide, some kind of normal life settled in. Now, he and Nick had to hide. Greg knew about them, but no one on the team.  
"You want something to eat?" Nick asked, leading him over to the couch.  
"Take out?"  
Stokes gave him a wide smile. "Chinese?"  
"Thai?"  
"Italian?"  
Grissom smiled. "Thai," he repeated.  
"There's also Greek." Nick chuckled at the expression. "Okay, okay, Thai. You got it."  
He placed a little kiss on his lover's nose and reached for the portable phone to place their order.

* * *

Something didn't seem right. Something in his manners, his whole... being. Catherine couldn't put her finger on it, but to her, Grissom seemed distracted. More than was normal even for him. She would keep an eye on him. And on Nick. Whatever had inflicted Grissom, it seemed to have caught Nick, too.  
Curious.  
All questions as to what had happened in Salt Lake were answered the same way. 'Nothing'. And Nick's expression… So stony, so unmoving, except for his eyes. Nick was an intense man, very emotional, very caring, and his eyes gave him away to the world even when he locked his face into a mask.  
Catherine had seen the pain, the suffering, the memories of something the two men had apparently gone through together, but where Grissom buried himself in his office and brushed human contact away, Nick was actually needing it. But he didn't get it.  
Not even from Grissom, she thought.  
Catherine wasn't blind. She had eyes, a brain, and she was a criminalist. She could see clues and interpret them, she could collect evidence and examine it, and for the past months she had done so. Willows had never talked with anyone about her suspicions and she wouldn't do so in the future, but it had enlightened her to just keep an eye on Nick and Grissom.  
Who would have thought? she mused, eating another slice of apple. Nick was a ladies man. Self-proclaimed, of course. He liked women and he had his share of admirers, but she had never seen him get too serious with anyone. He wasn't the type to be with a woman on the first date; he believed in getting to know her over a coffee, go out, have fun. He was careful, she had long since decided. Not a bad trait.  
Grissom was another matter. There had been the ill-fated romance with Dr. Terri Miller, who was by now married. An odd date here or there, but no serious relationships to speak of. Grissom lived his job; there was nothing else.  
Except now.  
Catherine finished the apple.  
And something had affected the two of them rather badly. She didn't believe it was a break-up; the signs were all wrong. Nick was still there for Grissom, acting the same way as before, a good friend to the outside world, something special on a more private level.  
So what had happened?

* * *

Grissom sat in the common room, a box of Chinese Take-Out in one hand, glasses perched on his nose, picking at the noodles as he read over some papers. Brass smiled as he took in the picture of normality.  
"Busy?" he asked, grinning as a startled Grissom shot him an annoyed look.  
"No, just reading."  
"Something important?"  
"Statistics. Budget stuff. Boring."  
Brass nodded, sighing deeply as he settled on the couch chair. "Yeah, those are a real mood killer."  
Grissom fished some noodles and chicken out of the carton with his chopsticks, shooting Brass a politely inquiring look.  
"Is this a social call or you have work for us?"  
"No work. Been quiet in the last few hours. Thank god, I've to say. I can do with a breather. As for the social call… yeah, maybe. How was Salt Lake?"  
Grissom frowned, the loaded chopsticks hovering in front of his mouth a second longer than normal, then he chewed on the food. "It was a forensics meeting, Jim."  
"So? Had fun?"  
"I learned a lot."  
Brass studied his friend. Something had happened to him, the captain knew. Something had changed Gil Grissom. Not profoundly. Not openly. It was something deep inside, something that was now and then raising its head, peeking out.  
"Good for you. Anything interesting?"  
"Where is this leading?" Gil asked, not beating around the bush.  
Brass leaned forward, fixing the other man with a hard look. "We've known each other for a long time now, Gil? I know when something's bugging you, and something is crawling up your spine. Something is freaking you."  
"Nothing important happened in Salt Lake City, Jim," came the mild answer, but the blue eyes seemed to look inward, remembering something, and Brass knew it wasn't 'nothing'.  
"Nothing important happened today. Isn't that what King George III wrote in his diary on July 4th, 1776? 'Nothing Important Happened Today' – on the day America was declared independent from Britain. Pretty big 'nothing', don't'cha think?" Grissom's eyebrows rose in surprise and Jim shrugged. "You rub off."  
"Apparently." A smile twitched at Grissom's lips.  
"In case you decide something did happen, Gil, you know where to find me." With that, Brass put in the tactical retreat. There was no winning against Grissom stubbornness, he knew. If his friend decided to talk, he would listen. If he didn't, well, there was nothing he could do.

* * *

//A flash of silver light.  
Hot pain exploding in his side as the knife was riven into his flesh.  
The feeling of hot stickiness flowing over his hands.  
The slow decrease of his heartbeat, and pain, pain, pain…  
He wanted to scream, cry out for the one he loved, yet he was alone… //

Gasping for air, he came awake, and he was cold and it was dark and there was the pain in his side…  
“Nick!”  
Strong arms encircling him, pulling him close to a warm body, tender hands stroking away the cold that had him in its suffocating grip, and then it was Nick, and he was there and he held him, whispering reassuring words into his ear.  
“Gil, it’s okay, I’m here. You’re not alone, I’m here… “  
And Grissom held on to that voice, that body, latched onto the only secure thing, the only thing that was still safe in his world.  
“Bad dream?” Nick asked after a while.  
Grissom nodded, the memory too vivid for his liking. He thought he could still feel the blade embedded in his flesh, the feeling of how the tissue had been torn, or the smell of his own blood. Shouldn’t he be accustomed to the smell, for Christ’s sake? He was a crime scene investigator; blood and death was part of his job.  
But not your own, a tiny voice whispered, and he shuddered. He felt the arms closing tighter around his frame, Nick placing soft little kisses on his shoulders.  
“I’m here, love.”  
Grissom turned in his lover’s arm, resting his head on one broad shoulder. “I was alone… “  
“Gris… Look at me. I’ll be there. From now on, ‘til… ”  
“…death do us part?” Grissom couldn’t help the sarcastic remark.  
It earned him a hard grip on his shoulders and a flash of anger in those deep brown eyes.  
“Will you stop that? It’s not funny!”  
Grissom sighed. “No, it’s not.  You’re right, I’m sorry. It’s just … “  
"You're trying to deal with it."  
He nodded briskly.  
"I understand," Nick murmured. "I understand. So do I. Sorry."  
"Not your fault, Nicky. None of this is. It happened a long time ago, and I never realized it. I'm just glad… I'm glad you're there now. That you know."  
"You're not alone," Nick insisted fiercely. "I'm here. For good. For always."  
And for the first time, Grissom believed it.  
He nodded, and closed his eyes, relaxing into the warm embrace of his lover. Nick was there. Nick would always be there. Not like that night… He tensed involuntarily at the memory of the pain, the silvery flash of the reflected light on the metal. The movement in the darkness.  
Nick tightened his embrace around him as Grissom gasped.  
Movement.  
“Gil?”  
He lifted his head, looking into his lover’s worried brown eyes.  
“I remember, Nick.”  
“What? What do you remember?”  
“Why I walked into that street in the first place. I saw a movement, fast, almost flickering. I saw a wolf, Nick.”

* * *

Chris Larabee sat at his desk, twirling a pen between the fingers of his right hand, eyes staring at the papers in front of him without even reading the words. The call from Grissom had been a surprise but not unexpected. The Las Vegas criminalist was now as much part of their world as they were part of his. There would be more contact in the future and Chris was really looking forward to working with those two men again.  
But the call hadn't been about work. Or Grissom's new state. Or Nick's, for that matter. It had been about a memory that had returned.  
Grissom had seen a wolf in the alley he had died in. A wolf that had started to shift shape, trying to become human. An injured werewolf, to be precise. Grissom had recalled the wounds, the blood everywhere, as well as the dart sticking out of one hind leg. And he had remembered the expression of pain, fear, fury and despair in the not-quite human eyes.  
Gil's mind had refused to acknowledge what is eyes had seen, had shorted out so to speak. It was too much to take and too fantastic to be real.  
Self-induced, short-term amnesia.  
The amnesia had cleared and the new mind, the criminalist mind which now knew so many things, had analyzed it.  
Now the evidence made a lot more sense. Nathan would be fascinated, Chris mused. The blood they had found, containing both canine and human DNA, had to be from the werewolf who had made a last attempt to shift back to his human form.  
So now they knew, but the knowledge brought with it more questions. Someone had killed Grissom because of what the criminalist had seen. Someone had hunted a werewolf, had apparently used a poison dart or a sedative. So where was the body? No one had been in that alley but Grissom. No naked human, no wolf. Nothing.  
The killer had removed the body. Why that one? Why not Grissom, too?  
Because a naked human or a dead wolf would have been a reason to investigate.  
Chris twirled the pen some more. So the killer had moved the obvious body, the werewolf one, and he had left Grissom, apparently a victim of a robber.  
How had he moved the wolf? Where was he? Why had he been killed?  
Questions and more questions, and Chris Larabee was determined to find the answers.

* * *

Nick sighed slightly, blinking at the semi darkness of the room and his own sleepiness. Not quite awake yet he rolled over to Grissom, wrapping his arm around the warm waist of his lover  - and jerked his hand back when his fingers fell onto something wet, warm and sticky. And then his mind noticed – and recognized - the scent. Groping for the light he prayed … only to find himself looking into a pair of unblinking blue eyes staring up at him yet not seeing him. They would never see anything ever again, the blood soaked sheets a dead giveaway.  
“No! God, please … ”  
Staring at the dead body of his lover beside him, at the blood in his hands – god, there was so much blood -  Nick started to cry desperately -  
\- and woke with the sound of his own gasp still in his ear. A quick check told him he had dreamed and that Gil was lying sound asleep – for once – and very much alive at his side. Stifling a sigh of relief Nick fell back into the pillows.  
It wasn’t the first time he had had nightmares of his own, saw Grissom dying, every time unable to do anything but watch or wait, helplessly forced to listen to his lover calling out for him. And every time Grissom died a horrible death, alone, in a nameless alley. This one was new though. Closing his eyes, he shuddered at the all too vivid image, still able to smell the blood, see the look of broken blue eyes, or hear the oddly wet sound when he had touched the bloody sheets.  
Nick inhaled slowly and gave in, opening his eyes again and, after quickly checking on his lover, slipped cautiously out of the bed and into the bathroom. No need to disturb Grissom, the man hadn’t gotten much sleep lately – like you yourself, Nicky my boy. So what?  
Splashing cold water into his face he glanced at his reflection in the mirror. Pale, hollow faced, unshaven and with dark smudges under his eyes he looked like death warmed over. Twice.  
Sighing, he switched off the light and walked over to the living room couch, grabbing a pen and the report that had been waiting for him.

* * *

"Something's changed."  
Sara Sidle closed her locker and shot her colleague a quizzical look. "You want to add something to it or am I to guess what this is about?"  
Warrick Brown shrugged. "Something about Grissom. Have you looked at him lately? He looks… different."  
Sara frowned. "He's Grissom. Same old."  
"Yeah, well, looks different," Warrick insisted. "I mean… kinda… younger maybe? I think he lost some weight."  
Sidle shrugged. "So?"  
"And his hair.."  
"His… Hair…" Now she looked critical. "You're looking at his hair?"  
Warrick shot her a dark look. "No. I don't. You don't have to look to notice it, Sara. You think he's coloring it?"  
She burst out laughing. "Grissom? You really need to lay off the burritos, Warrick." She waved at him. "See ya tomorrow. Get some sleep."  
Warrick sighed and closed his locker. Maybe he was overworked. Gil Grissom didn't color his hair. He might have lost weight, which accounted for a younger look, but he definitely didn't color his hair.

* * *

He had been watching for four weeks now. He had noticed the first signs of stress when they had appeared, the thin lips, the frown around the eyes. No more wide, dazzling smiles, no charming laughter, no more fun banter. It was as if something inside Nick had died, and it was slowly taking everything that still lived with it.  
Greg had been told what had happened in Salt Lake, and while he was now known as an ally to both Grissom and Nick, nothing much had changed. Neither of the two men talked to him, at least outside work and only about work if so. It was normal for Grissom, but not for Nick. Greg and Nick shared a passion and that was video games. Ever since returning from Salt Lake, Nick had shut down and there was no getting to him.  
His colleagues noticed. They asked but received no answers. Greg had caught Catherine watching Nick more than once, a worried frown on her forehead, always oh-so close to approaching him once more. But Nick refused to confess into anyone. He didn't want anyone close.  
Anyone who didn't know.  
But Greg knew.  
So he tried. He chatted away as usual, he tried to get a rise out of his friend, even if it was only anger, but there was nothing. Nick worked professionally on every case – and emotionlessly.

It was an hour past his normal shift and Greg had just left the locker room when he heard the frustrated snarl, followed by a hollow thump, again followed by a sharp crash. Taking three more steps he looked into the evidence examination room. It was one of the few that had no glass walls and no windows to the outside. Only one door and that was wide open.  
In the room, slumped against the wall, was Nick Stokes.  
And he looked bad.  
Horrible, actually, Greg thought with rising concern.  
His friend was pale, with dark circles under his eyes that spoke of nights without sleep or very little. His eyes were red-rimmed and there was a wetness inside them that told of emotions currently so close to the surface that the breaking point was near.  
Tools lay scattered on the floor, including a plastic box. It was empty and had a label on it, declaring it had once contained evidence from the Kleisch case. Greg wasn't all too familiar with it, except that it was a hit and run. Nick had been looking for traces on the dead man's clothes. The shirt and pants were still on the table, but everything else wasn't.  
Nick sank down the wall, sitting against it, his lower arms resting on his knees. He stared sightlessly at the littered floor, swallowing reflexively, hands clenching and unclenching. He was trying to get a grip on himself and failing.  
Greg did the first thing on his mind. He stepped into the room, approaching his friend.

Grissom had been walking the almost empty corridors of the crime lab, leafing through one of the many reports he had to sign, deep in thought. Work took his mind off other things, private things, and it was what he buried himself in. Day for day, night for night. Now, in the early hours when the day shift wasn't yet in these holy halls and the night shift was ready to leave, he was almost alone. Many lab techs had already gone home, had logged out, and only some CSIs were in the labs.  
So when he heard the noise, he looked up, searching for its source. He discovered Greg Sanders walking toward one of the back evidence rooms, the ones that were only occupied when the criminalist using it needed some necessary peace and quiet for the processing.  
He watched Greg stand there, a dozen emotions crossing his young features, from compassion to horror to worry to determination, then he entered.  
Curious, Grissom approached, peeking into the evidence room, only to stop. The scene on display was something he never would have expected.  
Nick sat slumped against the wall, looking like death warmed over. He was pale, thinner than he actually remembered his lover, the dark smudges under his eyes a clear tale of the nights of sleep he had lost. His eyes were bright with emotions threatening to spill and his hands actually shook.  
His lover was exhausted… breaking down… burned out… and Gil hadn't seen it. They had been together daily, at work, at home, sharing space. He hadn't seen it. He had looked at Nick, but he hadn't *seen*!  
Nick was dealing with it, Gil realized with a sudden, sick feeling. He dealt with everything that had come their way. His own change, the truth about what he was, as well as Grissom's stumbling acceptance of the Phoenix. Gil had had nightmares about his death. Again and again he had woken, disturbed, terrified, needing the comfort of warm human arms around him. It had all been about him, never about Nick.  
His anchor. His sanity. His stability. All Nick. Nick had dealt with it instead of Grissom.  
Grissom closed his eyes and stepped away from the two men inside the evidence room. He longed to go to his lover, take him into his arms, comfort him, but he knew it was wrong. If he went in there now, Nick would push back his own need and try to comfort Gil in turn. He would swallow his pain, wave Grissom's concern away, would try to be strong once more. As much as he wanted to be the one Nick could turn to, Grissom knew that he wasn't, because he was just as much part of this as Nick.  
And it hurt to let Greg stand in for him. Very much. But it was for the better.

"Nick?"  
Greg met the dark brown eyes, shivering at the hollowness in them. His friend was hurting; badly. Sanders had grown up with the knowledge that there were paranormals out there. He had met vampires and witches, never a warlock or a werewolf, but he knew how being different could influence one's life. His family had always been allies, never with a paranormal among them. Still, he had been born into this world; he knew.  
"What do you want, Greg?" Nick asked, sounding tired, exhausted. His voice was a far cry from his usually so strong timbre.  
"How about breakfast?" Greg simply asked. "My treat."  
Nick opened his mouth to say no, something Greg knew was coming, then snapped it shut again. His shoulders slumped slightly and his eyes closed. He drew a shuddering breath.  
"I don't think it's a good idea," Stokes finally mumbled.  
"I think it is. Harvey's, how about it?" Greg insisted.  
Another moment of silence. The dark eyes met his again, searching, apparently finding, and suddenly Nick nodded.  
"'Kay."  
He stumbled back to his feet, looking at the mess.  
"Shit."  
Greg picked up the evidence container and placed it onto the table. "Nothing's broken," he said calmly.  
Nick sighed and collected the tools. "Yeah," he whispered.  
Then he placed the clothes back into the box, sealed it and locked the whole thing away for later.  
The two men left the PD, both silent, and the drive to Harvey's little restaurant was done wordlessly as well.

They got one of the upper level booths, with a nice view of the Stratosphere Tower, but neither was interested in the view. Nick was playing with his eggs and toast, while Greg watched and waited.  
"You okay, man?" he finally asked.  
"Depends on your definition of okay. I'm a Mimic. Is that okay?"  
"It's what you are. There's no okay or not okay. You simply are."  
Nick gazed at him, then lowered his eyes. "I never asked to be different."  
"I guess a lot of paranormals say so. It's genes for most of them. Can't fight DNA. You should know that."  
Nick grimaced. "Yeah. But why me?"  
"Because."  
Stokes's head snapped up and he glared. "What kind of reasoning is that?"  
"Because means because, Nick. You come from a line of Sidhe descendants and while you all carry the gene, you never noticed. Maybe you were called charming by others, maybe have a good way with words, but it was never something outstanding. You don't grow pointed ears, man. You just carry something in you that got triggered. And you're damn lucky you're not a magic user. You have passive powers."  
"Well, I don't want them! I never wanted anything like this."  
"Too bad. Too late. You're stuck." Greg gave him a close look. "And lucky, too."  
"Lucky?"  
"Grissom's a Phoenix. You're a Mimic. Do the math."  
Nick stared at him, thunderstruck. "What?"  
Greg sighed. "He's gonna live a very long life, right? You can be there for him."  
Stokes swallowed and Greg hid a smile. The call from Ezra Standish had not only revealed the new condition of these two men to him, but Standish had also hinted at something more. Greg wasn't stupid. He had seen the new closeness, but he had refused to interpret something into it that wasn't really there. Now he didn't need interpreting any more. He knew.  
"This is like a bad movie," Nick breathed, "and I'm stuck in it. Grissom's some kind of Highlander and I…"  
"You're a Sidhe descendant."  
A waitress came and refilled their cups, taking empty plates with her. Both men sat in silence for a while, then Nick exhaled explosively.  
"How can I still work my job knowing what I do? Knowing what I am! How do you?" he demanded.  
"Actually, I'm doing pretty fine at it," Greg answered, shrugging. "But I grew up knowing it all. Allies, you know."  
"How do you deal?" Nick insisted, desperation leaking into his voice.  
Greg held the dark gaze, recalling something from over a year back. The bus that had gone off the road. He had frozen then, seeing blood and death first hand all of a sudden. And he had asked Nick the same thing. How do you deal?  
"You just do," he replied quietly.  
Nick shivered and clutched his mug.  
"And you talk, man. You talk," Sanders continued. "You're not alone. Neither is Grissom. You talk to those who listen and understand."  
"Like you?"  
A nod. "Yeah, like me."  
Nick dredged up a smile. "Thanks. Appreciate it. I… I just hate to be in the middle of this. I'm not looking for attention. I actually hate it."  
"Don't look at everything as paranormal," Greg advised. "I know it's easy to say, but that's the truth. You handle everything like before. No changes. You just know a bit more than the average person out there. And what you are now isn't stamped onto your forehead. No one can tell. You're no freak, Nick."  
Stokes chuckled. "Nah, just a member of the nerd squad."  
"You got that right!" Greg laughed.  
The paid and walked out into the morning sun. Nick slipped on a pair of glasses as he squinted down the Strip.  
"Thanks, Greg. Thanks for listening."  
"Hey, any time. I'm your friend. You wanna talk, I listen."  
"I might just take you up on that offer in the future again."  
Greg smiled. "You know where to find me."

And he did. It wasn't the last time Nick talked to Greg. Sanders was only too willing to help, shedding his appearance as the happy go lucky lab rat, the easy going kidder, the fun guy. Nick discovered there was another side to his friend. A serious, caring one. A knowing one. It helped immensely to just talk to someone who understood and who wasn't emotionally this close to him, like Grissom was.  
Slowly, wounds began to close and the healing started. While answers to the 'what am I' were still sketchy and unsatisfying, he was beginning to accept.

* * *

Grissom looked around slowly, taking in the well known environment of the Gilbert College of the Deaf. He had no idea why he had ended up here, all he had wanted was to take a walk – think.  
Process.  
Especially process what he had witnessed at the lab. They had been back in Vegas for four weeks now, and Nick had been his anchor in the past time, had been there for him whenever he needed him. Gil had to admit he hadn’t exactly watched out for Nick, hadn’t exactly thought about how hard it must have been for HIM. At least they knew what Grissom was, what to expect; but no one had even a remote idea what being a Mimic meant.  
Nick had put all his energy in the act of being there for Gil, and he had been entirely grateful for that. Now Nick needed someone, and it couldn’t be him, that much he knew. Though Grissom needed Nick, still did, he had to talk to someone else, someone who wasn’t Nick.  
But there was nobody else.  
He could call Sanchez in Salt Lake, or Larabee, that he knew, but somehow he shied away from that opportunity.  Instead he had gone for a walk, wanting to clear his head, sort things out, and had ended up here.  
Someone tugged on his sleeve. He looked around and discovered it was a boy, a teenager, with wild, blond hair and vibrant blue eyes.  
[Hi] the boy signed, smiling.  
[Hi to you, too] Grissom replied.  
He knew the boy from sight. He was a student at this college. The kid was inspecting him closely, and Grissom tilted his head in a questioning gesture.  
[Something wrong?] he asked, slightly unsettled by the scrutiny he was under.  
[Have you been to Arizona lately?]  
Grissom felt like punched in the stomach. [I beg your pardon?]  
It couldn't be what he imagined. The boy wouldn't be asking about… No, impossible.  
[The capital is very lively this time of year]  
So it hadn’t been just an innocent question.  
But how could the teenager know? If he really did, that is, he added. Maybe this was just a game.  
The confusion must have been visible on his face, because the boy tugged his sleeve again, making a soothing gesture.  
[I know] he signed, [I can see it. Phoenix. Town to die for, eh?]  
Jesus, this was just a boy! But his words… the way he said it.. even in sign language it held the ambiguity Grissom knew there was. And the boy's expression just added to it.  
[How?]  
The boy looked around, then took his hand. [Let’s take a walk]  
They walked until the reached a rather secluded area of the park, Gil’s mind racing, stumbling over theories and possibilities. This boy could hardly be a vampire. A Phoenix himself? Most unlikely. Maybe what Brian had called a magic user, a witch? Too young…  
Gather the evidence, Gris, he told himself. Be patient and you will find out.  
The boy guided them to a stone seat beneath an old tree. Sharp blue eyes regarded him closely  
[I can see because I know what to look for. Anyone else will just notice you look better. But you died, right?]  
A part of his mind, and Grissom figured it must be the tiny little insane one, made his fingers sign the answer, put his trust into a kid. He didn't know why, but he felt like he could confide in this child.  
[Yes]  
[You’re not accustomed to it]  
It wasn’t a question.  
[No. This was my second time – well, the first time I noticed, actually. How do you know?]  
[I’m a Seeker. Yes, yes, I know, I’m young for a Seeker, but I’m turning fourteen next week. I can do it]  
A Seeker?  
[A Seeker?]  
The boy frowned. [You mean you don’t know? About us?]  
[What does ‘about us’ mean?]  
Grissom looked into the child’s face, the wise-beyond-age blue eyes, as the boy looked back, as if was searching for something. He seemed to find it, because he smiled broadly at him.  
[First I want to introduce myself. My name is Charles, Charles Tucker. Call me Charlie]  
[Hello, Charlie. I’m Gil]  
[I know] Charlie laughed. [Everybody here knows you.]  
Grissom looked definitely perplexed. Everybody knew him?  
[You wanted to tell me about a Seeker] he prompted.  
Charlie smiled and then began to sign fluidly. Gil asked questions, Charlie answered them. After some time Gil Grissom started to talk himself.  
And Charlie listened.

* * *

They had been back to Vegas for two months now. Two months dealing with the changes, the new reality, and everything that been unearthed. Thankfully, nothing supernatural had occurred on the job. They had briefly met the manager of the Shaman Hotel, Nandi Kidja Kunene, and she had made the same offer Ezra and Chris had: come and talk whenever they needed to. Nick hadn't been too keen to try and find vampires in their neighborhood. So far, no one had come forth and revealed himself as one.  
Nick looked around Grissom's bedroom, searching for his shirt. He knew he had left in in his lover's laundry, but so far, it hadn't popped up again.  
He was about to close the wardrobe's door when something caught his attention. He frowned and took a closer look, only to gasp in surprise. Then a smile slowly crept over his lips, turning into a broad grin as he checked the items more closely. So Grissom had experimented all right.  
Curiosity got the better of him and he reached out, pulled the items out, and sat down on Grissom’s bed to inspect them. Okay, this was quite clear, the shape left no doubt about the function of that. The image of a younger Gil Grissom playing with it made a certain part of his anatomy stir in interest.  He put it away, taking the next one. Pulling it out of the bag it was stored in, he raised his eyebrows at the soft clicking sound. Plastic beads in various sizes on a cord?  What would one do with… oh. Oh! Okay, that. His lower regions weren’t quite sure of how to react to that, but the general interest remained. Opening a little box made said interest reach unknown heights within the blink of an eye. This time the image in front of his inner eye a quite vivid one, and, at the same time, leaving him stunned in surprise.  
Gil Grissom interested in this? As unbelievable as it might be – on the other hand, he did experiment. Nick put the items out of the box, letting his finger glide softly over the padded parts, imagining it in use … His throat was getting dry with that thought. Not that he had never seen something like it, both in his line of work and his private life, hell, he had even done it before, and liked it, part of it. But he had to admit he had never thought about playing it with Gil.  
Then he noticed another item left in the box and he carefully pulled it put. Unfolding it he couldn’t help the soft moan that escaped his throat, as he realized what it was, and what it was supposed to do.  
His lover had managed to surprise him again. Running his finger over the soft material he found he was breathing harder – and getting harder as well.  
Aw hell.

“Nick?”  
Gil stood in the door frame, frowning slightly at his lover. He had been getting a little worried when Nick hadn’t come back after some time and went looking. Now he found him sitting on his bed, an open box in front of him, fingering the items he had found in there, and looking both stunned and  - turned on?  
“Nick?” Gil stepped closer.  
So he had found it. Stokes looked up, smiling at him, dangling the restraints on his index finger.  
“Gil?” he said questioningly. “When you said you were experimenting you meant it, huh?”  
“Of course I did.”  
“What part?”  
Grissom didn’t need to ask what his lover wanted to know. “I don’t put a label on myself, Nicky.”  
“So, did you like to top?”  
“Actually – no.”  
Grissom watched his lover rise from the bed, the cuffs still in hand, and walk over to him. The almost feral look on Nick’s face made his heart skip a beat – oh yes, turned on indeed. A reciprocal process, he noticed, when Nick pulled him into his arms and up close, claiming his lips in a fervent kiss. He softly moaned into the kiss when he felt his lover’s desire igniting his own, and he responded in kind, hands roaming over Nick’s body. He didn’t realize Nick was pushing him carefully until he hit the mattress, his lover’s hard body covering his.  
Nick broke the kiss, looking down on him with burning eyes and panting.  
“So, you like to bottom?” he breathed.  
“Only with the right partner. It’s a matter of trust.”  
“Do you trust me?”  
Grissom watched him for a whole ten seconds, before he slowly nodded. Trust Nick? Not even a question. Trust him enough to give up his control? Part of his screamed in protest. He had never released control of anything to anyone before. Stay one step ahead of the game; never show your weakness.  
“These are safety cuffs," he said softly. "If I need to I could get out. But – yes, I trust you.”  
Nick gave an oddly strangled sound and then Grissom found himself thoroughly, deeply and intensely kissed, leaving him both breathless and light headed with need himself. Nick’s hands were wandering over his body and down his arms, slowly placing them over his head.  
“You sure?” he whispered, and Gil could only nod, before he heard the click of the metal.  
He was restrained to the bed.  
Nick straddled Grissom's hips and started to very slowly unbutton his shirt. By the time he had undone every single button, Grissom was already writhing underneath those talented hands, once again silently cursing his own over-sensitivity in this department. And Nick knew only too well by now how to play him, oh yes. His lover shifted his weight and then he felt something really soft glide over his skin. Opening his eyes he realized what it was.  
“You like that, too?” Nick asked hoarsely, playing with the silk scarf, letting the cool fabric run over his chest, caress the flushed skin and tease the erect nipples.  
Grissom moaned softly, shaking his head.  
“No, not really. I needed to see.”  
“How about now?”  
“Now I want to see.”  
“’kay.”  
The expression in those liquid brown eyes was intense. Loving, needing…. Understanding, mixed with a desire that left Gil breathless.  
Nick let his hands run over his chest, his lips, his tongue, caressing, licking, teething, until Gil was trembling, and he hadn’t even touched his pants so far! Nick grinned broadly, his hand ghosting over his groin, and Grissom felt his hips twitch involuntarily at the light touch. His lover worked himself down his body, slowly unbuttoning and unzipping his pants, breathing and licking over every inch of slowly exposed skin, before he finally threw both pants and boxers to the floor.  
Gil felt hands roaming over his thighs as Nick was kneeling between his legs, but his lover stopped close to where he wanted him to touch. That was when Gil realized Nick was still fully clothed.  
“Nick?” he croaked.  
“Hm?”  
“You’re still dressed.”  
“I know.”  
And then Nick bent to kiss him again, rough denim and softer cotton scraping over his sensitized skin, making Gil groan and shiver.  
“Nick … “  
“Hm.”  
Gil watched as his lover slipped out of his clothes and then  - finally – he was able to feel him all over, skin on skin. Nick started to tease him once more, hitting all the soft spots again, working himself down south, giving his hardness a quick lick. The sudden sensation almost made him yell.  
Nick reached over at the nightstand, holding the toy he had dropped their earlier into Grissom’s sight.  
“You like that, too, huh?”  
Gil’s breath hitched as he saw what Nick was holding.  
“Yes, but – it’s no comparison to the real thing. Nicky…“  
“Yes?”  
“You want me to beg?”  
“You’re at my mercy, right?”  
A hand slipped between his legs. Gil’s answer was just an inarticulate moan.  
“After all, I’ve got my boss tied to the bed, so I can have my wicked way with him.”  
“Then have it, Nicky… “  
And Nick had.

*

Lying cuddled together afterwards, enjoying the soft afterglow of great lovemaking was as essential to them both as the act itself. Nick had wrapped himself around his lover’s compact body, loving the feel of skin against skin while he was simply holding or being held.  
“Nick?”  
“Hm?” he replied, drawing lazy circles on Gil’s chest.  
“Does it help?”  
“Does what help?”  
“Talking to Greg.”  
Stokes froze for a second, then continued his slow caress, nodding.  
“Yes, it does. Figured you’d find out sooner or later.”  
“I’m sorry, Nicky.”  
“What for?”  
Grissom turned in his arms to look at him.  
“For not seeing. I was so absorbed in my own problems I completely failed to notice you had your own share. Your world shattered, too.”  
“Hm-m. Yeah, well. We deal, right?”  
“Not right. I should have noticed. I will be more observant in the future, promised.”  
“That why you did it?”  
“Did what?”  
“Submit control the way you did. No,” a quick brush of lips over lips stopped whatever protest Grissom might have wanted to express. “I know you don’t like being vulnerable. You hate not having control over a situation, and where would you be more exposed than in bed? Don’t get me wrong here,“ Nick carefully brushed his thumbs over Grissom’s lips, “I appreciate it. It tells me how much you trust me. I don’t intend on failing that trust.”  
“If I cannot trust you, then who, Nick?”  
Gil rolled over, blanketing his lover’s hard body with his own, placing a more thorough kiss on his lips.  
“After all we went through the last weeks? And who knows what the future holds? We’re no longer talking years here, or even decades. We’re talking centuries. Long time if you don’t trust your partner. This Nexus thing Tanner was talking about -  interesting concept. Think it’s worth exploring?”  
Arms came up, wrapping themselves around his waist, hands stroking his back, as Nick responded to the kiss with renewed interest.  
“Hmmm… though I’d rather explore other things here, Grissom.”  
“You’re insatiable. Good thing I’m immortal, otherwise you’d kill me sooner or later. By the way, I'd like you to meet someone, Nick.”  
“Who?”  
“His name is Charlie. He’s a Seeker.”  
“A what?”  
 Grissom smiled down at him and shifted slightly, eliciting a soft sound of pleasure from his younger lover.  
“I’ll explain later. It seems there are indeed more important matters to take care of right now.”  
Who was Nick to disagree?


End file.
